A Consensus Theory of Truth
by NorthernStar
Summary: After a case, Dr Reid goes missing. He's found 3 days later with little memory of what happened to him. As the team begin to piece together events, Reid struggles to reconcile his growing knowledge and Morgan finds the details are reawakening painful memories of his own... Novel length case fic set across several years.
1. The End

Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds or its characters

Rating: 15

Warning: Discussions of the following: sexual violence, child abuse, drug dependence, murder, mental illness. Scenes of violence.

Summary: After a harrowing case, Dr Reid goes missing. He's found 3 days later with little memory of what happened to him. As the team begin to piece together events, Reid struggles to reconcile his growing knowledge and Morgan finds the details are reawakening painful memories of his own. Novel length case-fic set across several years.

**A Consensus Theory of Truth**

_By NorthernStar_

**Hotch:**

"_Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards. _

Soren Kierkegaard_."_

**11 May 2007 **

**Coos Bay, Oregon**

**The End**

Detective Lyons stared through the glass at the man responsible for the deaths of at least 7 women. He seemed small and even shy, speaking softly and listening politely, hunched over the table in a way that made his balding head shine in the overly bright fluorescent light. It was almost laughable to suggest this man had violently raped and tortured anyone. But even if the evidence wasn't enough to convince, the fact that the BAU had found him moments before claiming another life was.

"Not what you expected is it?"

Lyons turned to the speaker. He hadn't heard the young FBI officer join him. SSA Morgan had a very solid, reassuring presence and Lyons had grown to like him over the two weeks he'd been working this case. "Do they all look like that? Normal?"

Morgan gave a half smile. "Most of the time." His phone bleeped and with a quick, "sorry," he walked away to answer it.

The FBI, too, had not been what Lyons had expected.

He looked back through the glass, but this time his focus fell on SSA Gideon, a man a few years older than himself. He dressed like Lyons son's math tutor and had that same air, a mix of approachable tolerance and understanding and keen intelligence. Yet despite appearing the very polar opposite of how an FBI agent was supposed to look like, Lyons had known from their first conversation that he was one of the Bureau's best. And watching him talk Frederick Dean out of his frenzy had been stunning. He wielded words the way the police did their guns and Lyons was left in no doubt who was the more deadly armed.

At Gideon's side, sat SSA Hotchner; he was leading the interview and with his sharp focus and fine clothes, he looked textbook FBI. Hotch was everything Lyons had expected and then some: an intensely professional man with as fierce intelligence as determination. He liked him. But at the end of the day, he was glad he didn't have to work with him.

The interview was soon interrupted and then quickly wrapped when the state appointed lawyer arrived so Lyons made his way back to his desk. As he walked he passed JJ, the FBI's very pretty liaison. Lyons had quickly regretted his initial thinking that her looks had got her where she was today the moment he'd witnessed her at work, skilfully and tactfully deflecting the wrath of the gutter press. At her side was Prentiss, who much like Hotch personified the public perception of the Bureau's members, and he had immediately respected her. And she'd impressed him every moment since.

Lyons sat at his desk, which currently had an open box file on it which Dr Reid was filling with the photos and evidence from the incident board. Even after 2 weeks it was hard to see past the fact that he was just a skinny kid. Lyons had watched him lean over grisly corpses without flinching and he was there when Reid pulled the UnSub's kill site out of the fragmented details but damn, he was young.

Lyons offered the kid a smile and then returned to his work, aware of the investigation powering down around him. The FBI packed up as quickly and efficiently as they had set up when they arrived. It was probably their standard, but Lyons couldn't help wondering if perhaps they were just keen to leave this city behind.

The sun had begun to dip down towards the horizon when Lyons went outside to say his goodbyes. The agents were crowded around their 2 SUV's, talking to knots of officers.

Lyons stopped beside Gideon. He held out his hand. "Thank you."

Gideon returned the handshake.

"We owe you so much." Lyons told him.

"It's always a team effort, detective."

"Would you do something for me?"

"Anything."

"When you hear Coos Bay, don't think disembowelled drug addicts." Lyons looked into the distance. "We have a beautiful beach."

"I wish we had time to see it." Gideon replied as the other agents joined them.

"Where's Reid?" Hotch asked, looking at his watch.

"He went back to the hotel over an hour ago to get his bags." Prentiss said.

Morgan took out his cell and held it to his ear. A few seconds later, he put it away. "Just goes to voice mail."

Lyons caught a flicker of worry cross Gideon's face before it was quickly schooled away as he said, "I'll go pick him up."

Morgan fell into step beside Gideon and the pair got into an SUV.

-o0o-

Morgan pulled up outside of the hotel they had been staying at. The ride had only taken them 5 minutes and had for the most part been conducted in silence.

Both he and Gideon entered the foyer and approached the desk, which was manned by a single member of staff. The blonde girl looked up and offered Morgan a smile. She wasn't more than 21 and very pretty. They'd exchanged a few flirty comments over the last 2 weeks and her delight at his unexpected return was evident.

"Hey Sandy, has Reid checked out yet?"

"Reid, that's thinspo boy right?"

"Yeah."

"Um, he came in a while back. Didn't see him leave though so he's probably still up there."

"Thanks."

They got in the lift and went up to the second floor then headed for Reid's room. The door was closed and there was no answer when Gideon knocked.

"Reid?" Morgan called out.

Gideon knocked again, louder this time.

"Reid, c'mon. Wheels up in 30." Morgan yelled.

There was still no answer.

Morgan frowned. "I'll get Sandy to open the door."

-o0o-

Room 149.

Gideon let his gaze travel around the small hotel room. It was a carbon copy of the room he had stayed in. The décor was a little dated and the facilities basic but the FBI had stayed in far worse. The bed had been slept in and looked messy. Gideon could still see the indent of Reid's head on the pillow and the glint of a fine hair left behind.

Morgan gestured at the small dresser. "He'd finished packing."

Reid's go bag and satchel were on the chair, both packed and closed. Gideon reached for the zip, aware that there was no cause for the invasion of privacy he was about to commit.

"He might've gone to buy a few books." Morgan reasoned, "it's a long flight back."

Gideon pulled something from Reid's satchel and held it up. "Without his wallet?" He opened it and frowned. "Cards, licence but no cash."

"Maybe he took it with him."

Gideon looked up, but Morgan had turned his back and he couldn't read the expression on his face. Did Morgan know about Reid? Was he thinking that the reason Reid would take only money and leave everything else behind was that he'd gone to score drugs? Either way that was in the past. The kid was getting back on track.

And yet, the recent memory flickered…

_Sarah Finn's brother stared up at them in a haze, cocooned away from his sister's violent death. Reid carefully rolled the boy onto his side and pushed a pillow against his back so he wouldn't choke if he vomited in the night._

The kid had been uncharacteristically quiet after that.

No. He refused to believe Reid would quit now, when he'd come so far.

"Where would he go?" Gideon asked, thinking aloud rather than expecting an answer. He turned his attention on Reid's go bag, quickly and efficiently sorting through the items it contained: worn clothes, books, case files, toiletries, textbooks, course work.

Morgan looked at his watch. "He was supposed to meet us over an hour ago."

"Try his cell again."

Morgan nodded and pulled out his phone. After a few moments, he shook his head. "Voicemail."

"Then I guess we wait." Gideon told him and sat down on the bed. He listened to Morgan's side of the conversation when he called Hotch to tell him that they hadn't found Reid and were going to stay put for the moment, aware of time ticking by and trying to ignore the growing unease in his chest.

Time passed.

"No sign of a struggle." Morgan murmured after a while.

Gideon looked up at the words.

Morgan met his eyes. "I know you were thinking it too."

He stood up. "Have Garcia trace Reid's phone." He said. "I'll check the security tapes. They must have picked up Reid arriving, maybe they have him leaving."

-o0o-

Morgan dialled Garcia and after a few moments, her chirpy, happy voice filled his ear. Only it was decidedly less chirpy and not so happy.

"Hey Baby Girl."

"Better make this quick. I was 2 seconds away from walking out the door and into a hot tub and I don't intend on keeping those bubbles waiting."

"Can you put bath time on hold for me?"

"That had so better be an offer to come scrub my back?" That sounded more like Garcia.

"Not quite, but when we get back I'll let you borrow my loofah." Then he let the smile fall away. "I need you to track Reid's cell. We can't find him."

He heard a faint tapping on her end of the line and he pictured her working fiercely.

"Nothing." She said. "There's nothing."

.

.

.


	2. Absence: Part One

**.**

**Absence**

**Gideon:**

"Benjamin Franklin wrote:

_The absent are never without fault, nor the present without excuses."_

There were a total of 8 security cameras at the hotel and Reid appeared on 2 for a total time of less than a minute. Gideon and the team watched the footage that Garcia had stitched together and enhanced on the laptop. The quality wasn't bad and Reid's features showed clearly when he turned to Sandy in greeting and gave her a wide smile. He looked relaxed, shirt sleeves rolled up, hands in pockets. He entered the hotel, passed a couple in the foyer, and exchanged a few words with Sandy before turning to get in the lift.

"No sign of anyone following him." Gideon remarked. "No one was watching him."

"Unless you count Sandy." Prentiss smiled at the look of blatant admiration the receptionist fixed on Reid's back.

"Garcia's working on the footage from the last 2 weeks right now." Hotch said.

Her face blipped up in another window. "Correction. Garcia has _finished_ working on the footage from the last 2 weeks. Grab your popcorn. The world premiere of The Spencer Reid show is about to begin."

They watched a series of images from their stay at the hotel, snapshots of this hidden aspect of their working lives: Reid walking out with team, arriving back at night, using the vending machine, standing in the foyer with his cell against his ear, talking in the bar with Morgan.

"Garcia, run every person on this tape through face recognition."

"Way ahead of you. I'm sending you the names I have so far but it's all pretty standard: Middle American tourists, a couple of business men."

"We have to consider the possibility that he was specifically targeted. Go through every case that Reid either worked or was consulted on." Hotch told her. "Compile names of everyone he's worked with, starting with the most recent first."

"That's…going to be a long list."

"The UnSub knew enough about this hotel to take Reid without any witnesses. He has some connection to this area. Cross reference the names with school, employment and welfare records in the Coos Bay area." He paused. "You should also search through Reid's finances. See if anything turns up."

Garcia looked unhappy at that last order. "Yes sir."

-o0o-

**12 May 2007**

**Coos Bay Police Department**

Ten days ago the team had stood in front of the very same officers to give a profile. Prentiss let her gaze travel along the line of cops as she drew breath. She didn't remember it being this hard.

"Spencer Reid." Prentiss began and indicated the photo pinned on the board behind her. "He went missing 15 hours ago. He's a white male aged 25. He's 6 foot 1 inches tall, slight build, brown hair and eyes. From your security tapes, we know he left here at 5.48 in the afternoon yesterday and walked to the Bay View Hotel. Camera's at the hotel show him arriving at 6. 13. That's a gap of 25 minutes, longer than you would expect the route to take."

"No necessarily." One of the officers said. "He's not local."

Morgan stepped forward and shook his head. "Reid spent the last 2 weeks studying your city maps. He probably knows the area better than you do."

"At that time of day, there would be a lot of home going traffic." Prentiss continued. "People who take the same route at the same time every day. We need to talk to those people. It's possible someone saw something and doesn't realise its significance."

"There's a small number of businesses along his probable route." Gideon said. "We need to circulate his picture around them and talk to the owners."

"Is this connected to the murders?" This came from the back of the room. "Revenge attack?"

"We haven't ruled that out." Hotch told him. "Our profile of Frederick Dean indicates he operated alone and would have found it extremely difficult to form close attachments to anyone. It's therefore unlikely that if someone has taken Reid that they are linked to Dean."

"However," Prentiss added, "Reid was visible during the press conferences televised during the case. The public would know he was an FBI agent and his connection to this police station could be significant so we would urge everyone to be cautious."

"You said 'if'" Another officer said, "'if' he'd been taken. You don't know?"

"We know he arrived at the hotel but he disappears off the radar after that." Morgan said. "There was no sign of forced entry to his hotel room and no sign of a struggle inside. His bags were packed so he obviously spent some time in the room. That tells us that it wasn't someone waiting in his room for his return. He would have knocked at the door and Reid would have answered."

"That suggests he was probably taken at gun point." JJ clarified.

"The hotel camera's cover only the front of the hotel, the bar and the office," Hotch continued. "The places where money is kept. The other exits, such as the staff entrance and the fire escape, were blind. We've interviewed the staff and the other guests but no-one saw either Reid leave or notice any unusual behaviour."

"So…it's possible the kid just wandered off for a breather?" One of the older cops pointed out. "Things we saw these past weeks… can't say I'd blame him."

"Agent Reid has seen and experienced far worse in his time the FBI." Hotch replied. There was no ice in his words and yet the effect was much the same, lowering the temperature in the room noticeable.

"Look, we know you've been logging extra hours these last couple of weeks," Morgan said. "You're tired, you want to get home and see your families. I get that. I also know we don't have a lot to go on and that you deal with disappearances like this every day. But trust us when we say Reid wouldn't walk away like that. We need to know what happened to him."

-o0o-

Morgan watched the officers file out, eyes on the cop who'd spoken out. He clenched his fists, fighting back to urge to follow the man and tear him a new one for what he said. He knew Hotch was hovering at his side.

"What you said will help." Hotch told him. "They will treat this seriously."

Morgan shook his head.

"Morgan, you need to stay clear headed."

Morgan turned away and hit the wall with his fist. It wasn't nearly as satisfying as planting it in that cops face would have been.

"Talk to me. What's going on with you?" Hotch frowned. "This can't just be about what he said."

Morgan was aware of the others watching them. He looked over the head shot of Reid. "Yeah it is."

He saw Gideon go still at the corner of his eye.

"Hotch, there's an elephant in the room." Morgan snapped. "And I don't know how long I can go on ignoring it."

Hotch frowned. "Your point, agent?"

"Sir, Reid is 25." But he couldn't bring himself to say any more.

It still hurt just the same to hear Emily finish for him. "He's the right age for a schizophrenic break." She said.

"True." Hotch said. "But we all spoke to him yesterday. He was lucid, grounded. There was nothing in his behaviour to suggest he was having problems."

"I know that."

"But?"

"But a few weeks back... We all thought he was dealing with what Tobias Hankel did to him but what if it wasn't just post-traumatic stress? Maybe the warning signs were there and we just didn't see them?" Morgan felt the icy clutch of guilt in his chest, as if his very words were a betrayal of the young man. "Hotch, we checked all the hospitals in the area. I think maybe it's time to check the psyche units for John Doe's fitting Reid's description."

Hotch paused. Then he nodded once. "I'll get Garcia on it."

-o0o-

Some hours later, the team crowded around the laptop on which the pretty face of Penelope Garcia was being streamed.

"OK," she began, "so I looked at all of Reid's cases and that boy has been consulted on pretty much everything vile and icky that's happened in the last few years. From there I gathered names of everyone he had direct contact with. There were 2026. And the magic number after I'd filtered out those with clean records: 1567." She tapped at her keyboard. "I searched those for connections to Coos Bay and surrounding areas and came up with 17 names, four of which are currently living within a 100 mile radius of Coos Bay." She said, "I'm sending their details now."

Another window blipped up with a police file on it.

"Richard Wells is the brother of Andrew Wells, the Riverside Strangler, and has priors for assault. Reid has been researching the family and last spoke to Richard Wells 8 months ago." It was quickly covered by another file. "Martin Coffman had his conviction for the murders of 4 prostitutes in Boise overturned 6 months ago. Reid gave evidence in his original trial." Another file appeared. "Peter Watson never stood trial for the Finchley killings when the primary witness was found dead."

"Cause of death?" Prentiss asked.

"Heart attack." She replied and yet another window opened. "And finally, David Price. His son Daniel jumped from the roof of his apartment building rather than be apprehended for the murders of Trudy Long and Mary White."

"Reid tried to talk him down." Morgan said.

"I have the transcripts of the enquiry into Daniel's death. His father blamed Reid for not stopping his son's suicide. I'm sending those as well."

There was a pause as she tapped and jabbed at her keyboard.

"And the hospitals?" Emily asked.

Garcia looked up. "No one fitting Reid description has been admitted." She paused. "Should I call Mrs Reid?"

"Not until we know more." Hotch replied. "Did you look into Reid's finances?"

"Yes sir. He has all the usual outgoings – mortgage, insurance, utilities – he also covers his mother's medical bills and he's paying back, like, a _ton_ of student loans. It's no wonder he's so skinny, he can't afford to eat." She smiled once and then it faded. "There was something. 6 weeks ago Reid began making regular transfers from his savings into an account registered to his mother, a thousand dollars one day, a couple of hundred a few days later and so on. It was pretty much all of his savings, nearly $8000." Details of Reid's accounts flashed up in another window. "And here's where it starts to get weird. Reid holds power of attorney and 2 weeks ago he closed the account. He didn't take a bankers draft, he closed it in cash so I can't trace it."

"Ignore it." Gideon said.

Around the table, the others looked at him.

"Gideon, that's got to mean somethin'." Morgan said.

"It does. To me." He told them. "I know where the money went and believe me when I tell you, it is not relevant."

"Everything's relevant right now." Morgan argued.

Hotch stared at Gideon who met his eyes steadily. Morgan didn't know what passed between them in those seconds, but he knew something did.

Finally Hotch dipped his head in a short nod. "All right. Until it _becomes_ relevant. " Then he looked at the files Garcia had sent, swiftly moving past the missing money as if the subject hadn't ever been raised. "Morgan and I will take Richard Wells and Martin Coffman, Gideon, you and Emily visit Peter Watson and David Price. JJ stay here and co-ordinate with the local police."

-o0o-

**Wells Residence, Bend, Oregon**

Richard Wells was a large man with heavy jowls hanging either side of his fat lips and his bulbous head was topped with a mass of grey streaked black hair. Hotch knew from the files that he was 39 but he looked at least ten years older than that. He filled the doorway almost completely so that no glimpse of the interior could be seen around his massive frame.

He gave only a cursory glance at the photo of Reid.

"Ain't seen that boy since he come round asking about Andy."

"You agreed to be interviewed." Hotch replied. "In fact you requested Dr Reid over SSA Gideon, why was that?"

"Don't know."

"I think you do, Mr Wells." Morgan told him. "You wanted to get close to him because he was the one who put your brother away."

"No."

"You wanted to look him in the eye and think about all the things you could do to him to make him pay."

"NO!" Wells shook his head and the rolls of fat on his face wobbled. "I remembered him, that's all."

"From the trial?" Hotch asked.

"I heard him give evidence. Used all them long words talking about Andy, like he knew him, knew what made him do what he did." There was flicker of sadness. "I lived all my life with Andy," he said softly, "and I ain't never understood him like that."

For a moment, Hotch saw past the hideous exterior to the man beyond. "You thought Reid could help you."

Wells nodded.

Hotch glanced at Morgan. They both knew.

This wasn't their UnSub.

-o0o-

**Watson Residence, Crescent City, California**

"Best news I had all year." Peter Watson began to chuckle. "Who said the FBI didn't have their uses?"

Gideon waited out Watson's laughter.

Watson's eyes narrowed as the humour melted away into something more menacing. "I didn't hurt your Twig Boy." He leaned forward and smiled, dropping his voice as if imparting a secret. "But I'd like to shake the hand of the man that did."

Gideon ignored him. "Where were you on May 11 at around 6pm?"

"AA."

"We will be able to confirm that." Prentiss told him.

"Go right ahead. 'Bout 50 people saw me." He said. "Lotta drunks in the City. Now, get off my property."

-o0o-

**Bay View Hotel, Coos Bay, Oregon**

Gideon took off his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes. He had read every word in the police reports at least 3 times and there was still nothing, absolutely nothing, that even felt like a viable lead to follow. The few lines of enquiry thrown up had all met dead ends.

There was a knock on the door. Despite the late hour and the fact that no one had gone to bed the night before, Gideon was unsurprised that the others were still up as well.

He let Hotch in and offered him a drink.

Hotch looked down at the files scattered across the table.

Gideon held out a glass of scotch. "I must have gone over everything a hundred times."

"There isn't much to go over." Hotch admitted, taking a seat at the table.

Gideon sat across from him and swallowed down a mouthful of scotch. It burned all the way down to his stomach and he savoured it. He knew what Hotch was here for and he wasn't about to make it easy for him.

"Gideon…" Hotch began, "I know we've considered one elephant in the room but I think we both know there's another."

Gideon stroked his glass with his thumb and waited.

Hotch remained silent.

"Dilaudid." Gideon said eventually. Because someone had to.

"Do you know how long he's been clean?" Hotch asked. "My best guess is 6 weeks."

"46 days." He replied. "I'm including today."

"The 8 thousand dollars. That was medical bills, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"Gideon, Reid and I… We talked to a few dealers last week. One of them works the street Reid would have taken."

Gideon looked down at the scotch and didn't reply.

"A couple of those dealers would have made good profilers. They looked right at Reid and they knew." He sighed. "I think we have to consider the possibility-"

"No." Gideon said. "We don't."

"I know you care about him, we all do, but you can't ignore the fact that he has a problem and addressing it may be our best chance of finding him."

Gideon sat forward. "He will not start using again."

"Gideon-"

Jason cut him off. "He asked me to drive him up to Annapolis for detox. I wanted to stay with him through the worst of it but he wouldn't allow it. A nurse let me in to see him after 20 hours." Gideon closed his eyes. The memory was so clear in his mind. He could still see the sticky strands of hair plastered against Spencer's sweat soaked brow, still smell the lingering taint of vomit, and still feel the bones in his too thin arm. "He was sleeping. And all I could think was that he didn't look young anymore. He looked old. This job makes you old."

"You are not responsible for his dependence." Had Hotch heard the guilt he had tried so hard to keep from his voice?

"Neither is Reid."

"Maybe not." Hotch agreed. "But he chose to continue taking it and in doing so jeopardised the lives of everyone on the team and of the people we serve. And I don't need to tell you what the consequences would be for us if anyone ever found out we knew."

"He didn't deserve what was done to him, Hotch, but he does deserve a second chance."

Hotch lapsed into silence. Gideon finished his scotch and got up to pour himself another.

"Gideon…" Hotch said finally, "if this is to remain unofficial, one of us will need to talk to the dealers."

"I'll do it."

-o0o-

**13 May 2007**

**Bay View Hotel, Coos Bay, Oregon**

Morgan gulped back vending machine coffee as he waited for the others. He hadn't slept the night Reid went missing and had instead spent the hours playing and re-playing the short pieces of surveillance tape that captured Reid's movements. He had studied every shadow that might have been a follower, had Garcia run ViCap on every person who as much as passed him by and he'd come up empty. Last night, despite his best efforts to stay awake, he had fallen into a heavy sleep and woke to find his head aching fiercely.

The others looked just as tired when they arrived in the lobby, one by one, until there was only one person absent. But Prentiss beat him to the punch.

"Where's Gideon?" She asked.

"He'll join us later." Hotch told them.

"Has he got a lead?" Morgan asked.

"He's following a line of enquiry."

"I don't expect to hear police sound bites from you and you can't expect me to take them." Morgan said, trying to reign in his anger. "What's going on?" He wasn't stupid. "Is this about the money?"

"If it's relevant, we'll use it." Hotch replied, neither confirming nor deigning. "But since it probably isn't, let's not profile Reid any more than we have too."

The subtle plea for Reid's privacy had the desired effort.

"Understood." Emily said.

That didn't mean Morgan liked it any less.

-o0o-

**Coos Bay Police Department**

Gideon was already there when they arrived. Hotch could see tiredness and worry etched on his face and wondered when he last slept and how early he had left to talk to the dealers.

"Anything?" He asked discreetly.

Gideon's cell phone rang so the only reply he gave was a quick shake of his head before he answered. Hotch waited, saw some of the colour leach from Gideon's face and it felt like he'd been kicked in the gut.

"Understood." Gideon said. "I'll meet you there."

"Gideon?"

"That was Lyons." He said quietly. "They've found a body."

.

-End of part 1-

.

.


	3. Absence: Part Two

.

"Is it Reid?" Prentiss asked. Her voice sounded hollow.

Gideon pushed his phone into his pocket and avoided her eyes, not ready yet to see another's fear when his own was so sharp. "He doesn't know. Some college kids spotted the body at low tide while out on a boat. The divers haven't recovered it yet."

"I'll go." Hotch said.

"No." The word was sharp and he paused, forcing his anger down. "We still need to talk to Coffman and Price."

"You're too emotionally involved."

"And you're not?" He looked Hotch in the eyes. "I need to do this."

After a pause, Hotch nodded. "Take Emily with you."

-o0o-

**Horsfall Beach, Coos Bay, Oregon**

The clouds were black over the beach, dark and foreboding, cutting out the sun and casting the dunes into shadow. The wind whipped fiercely, churning up the sea into magnificent peaks and breakers, wild and untamed. The air tasted of salt spray and static.

Lyons watched the two agents walk towards him. Their faces were frozen into masks, their steps stiff and rigid. He remembered times when he too had cloaked himself in that cold professionalism and knew that beneath the still surface they were both terrified.

The agents stopped beside him.

Gideon's eyes were full of pain. "You were right." He murmured sadly. "It's a beautiful beach."

Lyons heard himself apologise. He had never wanted them to see the bay under these circumstances. "The divers are just bringing him out now." He said and pointed out to sea.

Amid the waves a small RHIB made its way to shore.

-o0o-

Gideon's eyes followed the small boat as it came closer, skipping and lurching over the waves. He could feel every sickening thud of his heart as he watched its progress. Rain began to fall, heavy against his skin, tracking down his cheeks like tears. It felt like hours passed and yet it was too soon when the boat stopped in the shallows.

The divers got out, hefting a body bag. They carried it between them as they waded through the surf. A few metres above the shore line, they lowered their burden onto the sand.

Gideon could see a pale thin arm…

_No_…

A flash of brunette hair…

_God_ _no_…

Lyons knelt down and pushed the bag aside, revealing the body's face.

Gideon stifled a sound and pushed his hands into his hair. He turned away, overwhelmed by a sudden jumble of noise and brightness that rendered everything else quiet and distant.

Beneath it all he heard Emily's voice. "It's not Reid."

And Gideon heard something in her tone and suddenly realised what the sensation clawing at his heart was.

It was relief.

-o0o-

The wipers on the SUV worked at full speed, but Hotch could barely see the road. The rain was coming down so heavy that all traffic had been forced into a snails crawl. He heard Morgan's cell ring but didn't dare take his concentration away from driving to listen in.

But he didn't need to hear the words to understand it was good news. Or at least, not the news they feared.

Morgan hung up just as a thread of lightening lit up the sky.

"The body wasn't Reid."

His reply was drowned under the roll of thunder. "Thank God."

"Gideon and Prentiss are heading out to Bandon to talk to Coffman."

"Let's hope the roads are better for them. This storm is slowing us down and we don't know how much Reid has left."

-o0o-

**Coos Bay Police Department**

JJ parted the window blinds and looked out at the storm. A flash lit the sky. She blinked at the sudden brightness and began counting. Three seconds later, thunder cracked overhead.

_Three miles._

Reid had explained the lag between the light and sound once. She wished she could remember.

Could he hear the thunder?

Was he counting too?

How many seconds passed for him?

For a moment, she was convinced that if she knew the answer to that, she'd know where Reid was.

JJ pulled her fingers out of the blinds, berating herself for wasting time with stupid thoughts. The plastic snapped back into place, locking the storm out.

-o0o-

**Price Residence, Florence, Oregon**

David Price was a small man, pale and slack shouldered, as if the weight of his life was literally pressing him down. He didn't look physically capable of harming anyone and yet Hotch could see there was a sharpness in his eyes which his placid demeanour didn't entirely hide.

He had made tea and placed a plate of cookies on the coffee table in front of them then calmly answered their questions. He had been alone in the house at the time of Reid's disappearance, he admitted, but he had made a phone call. That sharpness was there in his eyes when he asked if perhaps they could trace it?

Morgan immediately got up, took out his cell and left the room.

Price watched him go, then turned back to Hotch. "I loved my son, in spite of what he was." He said.

He sounded so genuine and perhaps he was, but Hotch remembered Daniel's hospital records. His had been a childhood full of 'accidents' and deprived of the love his father was now professing.

Price gestured at Reid's photo. "May I?"

Hotch handed it over.

"He looks so young." His knuckles were white, fingers holding the edge of the picture too tightly.

"He _is_ young." Hotch said. "But Reid had been with BAU for over a year when he tried to stop your son's suicide. He was an experienced profiler and he knew Daniel better than any of us."

In his minds eyes, Hotch could picture that day as if it was yesterday. The chill of the rooftop, the sound of the wind whistling past the air ducts and the bustle of the city far below, the ugly neon light from a nearby billboard casting everything into stark brights and shadows… And Reid's voice, pitched a little high with nerves, but saying all the right things. It just wasn't enough. Or rather, it was, but it was coming too late, far too late, to make a difference. Daniel had already made the choice.

"If anyone could have saved him, it was Reid."

"Daniel…" but the man got no further, biting down on his lip.

Hotch waited for Price to control himself and after a moment, he handed back the photo. There was a single wet dot on the picture, just above Reid's hairline. Hotch watched it trickle across the doctor's face.

"I didn't take him."

"I've read the transcripts of the enquiry, Mr Price. You made a number of accusations against Dr Reid. I also remember what you said to him outside the courthouse."

"I regret that." Price said.

Morgan returned. "Garcia confirmed there was a call made from this house to Lisa Cormack at 6.47 that lasted 38 minutes."

Price drew himself up as if those words vindicated him.

"Anyone could've made that call." Morgan said pointedly.

"Ask Lisa."

"We will." Hotch said and got up. "Thank you for the tea."

Price saw them to the door, shuffling ahead of them as if he could hurry them out. But they both took their time walking through the house, scanning the rooms that were visible beyond open doors.

As they began down the steps, Price called out. "Mr Hotchner?"

Hotch turned at the bottom.

"When you find him, can you tell him I'm sorry?" There was that sincerity again and yet… "I said some terrible things."

Hotch gave a single nod then walked away.

-o0o-

**Coos Bay Police Department**

"How did the interview with Coffman go?"

Emily turned at Morgan's voice. She could see a sheen of moisture on his skin and clothes from the walk between the SUV and the precinct. He looked as tired as she felt. "He's been in a wheelchair for the last 2 months. Car wreck." She replied. "Price?"

"Lisa Cormack confirmed their conversation but Garcia can quote you a dozen ways to reroute calls." He shook his head. "Price doesn't fit the profile of a kidnapper."

"Can we trust a profile built purely on speculation?" She asked. "We have a victimology that is based on only one victim, Reid, and we don't have his body to analyse." She saw his eyes dip down at that. "Sorry."

"I know you're frustrated but at the moment, it's all we've got to go on."

Prentiss turned her back on the incident board. The police department looked little different from the dozens of others she'd been in since joining the BAU, full of motion and sound, but she could see the weight of the last few weeks in almost all the detectives faces.

"It's not enough." She admitted.

"We will find him." There was conviction in his voice.

Her eye caught a flicker on the table and she turned to see a window pop up on the laptop. "Garcia."

Morgan leaned forward. "Baby Girl, tell me you got somethin' for us."

"I wish I could." She said softly. "Lakeside PD ID'd the body found at the beach as Martin Rees. He was reported missing a week ago when he failed to return from a fishing trip." A photo appeared in another window, revealing a young man with light brown hair and hazel eyes. "I've been researching a possible connection with Reid but unless you count both their mothers being called Diana, there's no overlap in their lives." She paused. "I know I should be…relieved but… Why do I feel like that's bad news?"

"We really could have used some solid evidence." Prentiss told her.

"I walked past your desks 3 times today." She said. "Each time I did I saw Reid. Just for a second. But when I looked again it was always someone else." She paused. "I don't want to go out there anymore."

-o0o-

Morgan felt Gideon behind him without needing to look and sure enough a few moments later, he settled into the empty chair opposite.

"You should get some sleep." Gideon said. "Look at these fresh in the morning."

After a long pause, Morgan closed the files. "Can't sleep anyway."

Gideon gave a sad smile. "Try."

Morgan sat back in the chair. "We always tell families: don't go out, stay by the phone. I know this is the right thing to do but right now, I just want to grab my keys, get in the car and drive till I find him."

"I know, but the best thing you can do right now to help Reid is to get some sleep."

-o0o-

**14 May 2007**

**Coos Bay Police Department**

Morgan dodged around Hotch as he walked quickly and tensely out of the department. The police chief, Hayden Quinn, watched his progress then turned his eyes on Hotch.

"A moment of your time, agent?"

He followed the chief into his office. "I'm cutting your agent a lot of slack right now." He said as he sat behind his desk and indicated the chair opposite.

Hotch remained standing. "I agree with Morgan." He said. "I would ask you to reconsider cutting back this investigation."

"Look, I've had my officers working double time for the last three weeks. They thought with Dean in custody they were finally gonna get to see their families. I can't keep running them at this pace. You know that."

"We all appreciate the efforts you have made."

"Efforts that have got us what?" Quinn pointed out. "We have no real crime scene to examine. There's no sign of abduction. We haven't found a body or any evidence to suggest he's been harmed in any way."

"The CSU found several samples of DNA in Reid's room."

"Most of which are from the hotels staff, and the two that aren't don't appear on CODIS." He replied. "And I wouldn't expect them too. It's a hotel room. Guest come and go all the time. We've talked to everyone at the hotel, at the surrounding businesses, we've even gone door-to-door and there are no witnesses."

"The UnSub clearly had prior knowledge of the area and chose his moment carefully."

"We don't even know _if_ there's an UnSub." He sighed and got up from behind his desk. He moved around to face Hotch, perching on the edge of his desk in a classic 'good cop' pose. Hotch recognised the technique and despised him for it. "Agent, I took a look into your Dr Reid. I read about his abduction by Tobias Hankel. That's a hellva, what do you call it? Stressor?"

"Reid was recovering." Hotch replied, tone filled with ice. "You worked with him. Did he appear unstable to you?"

"Last week I saw the kid scan through an evidence file this thick-" He held up his thumb and finger 2 inches apart, "- in maybe a minute and a half then quote me back, verbatim, the relevant sections. To be honest, I don't know what to think. But I do know if he wasn't FBI, we'd be looking at a young man, recovering from a traumatic assault, in a highly stressful job who has logged more working hours in the last 2 weeks than there's been waking hours. And you and I both know that people with a lot less to deal with walk away from their lives every day in this state."

"But he _is_ FBI."

"Which is why the investigation will continue." He said getting up. "But on regular hours." He went to his office door and opened it, signalling an end to the conversation.

"You're wrong about Reid."

"No, you're wrong about me. I'm trusting to your opinion of your agent and I will ensure his disappearance is properly investigated. But I can't justify working my men into the ground."

Hotch turned to leave.

"I value your input." Quinn said. "But you do not have any authority here."

-o0o-

Lyons stifled a yawn as he turned the pages of a statement. He should have been home hours ago, but had stayed to assist the FBI. He had not been the only cop here to do so. While some of his colleagues had breathed a sigh of relief that the double shifts had come to an end, the majority had wanted to continue.

He dragged his eyes away from the pages and looked over at the team of agents sitting round the table at the far end of the department. Then his view was briefly obliterated as JJ passed in front of him, running at full tilt.

"They've found him." She gasped.

The agents got to their feet. No one asked the question. No one wanted hear it aloud.

She answered anyway.

"He's alive."

.

.

.

.


	4. Presence: Part One

…

**Presence**

**Reid**:

"_If you wound the body of a dying man, the wound will begin to heal, even if the whole body dies within a day._

Primo Levi."

**Sun Pass State Forest, Oregon**

The 4 by 4 bumped along the dirt road that ran deep into the Refuge. At the wheel sat Kathy Parazoo, expertly avoiding all the deep furrows and rocks with the ease of long practice. She had been the ranger for these parts for the last 15 years and she would lay odds on knowing just about every inch of the lands. She knew what belonged here and what didn't.

She braked.

That didn't belong here.

Kathy got out, slung her shotgun over her shoulder and began walking forward. She could see the man lying at the edge of the road more clearly with each step. He was young. His feet were bare and bloodied, caked in dirt as if he'd been wandering in the woods for some time. The rest of the clothes were just as filthy, his shirt was torn and his trousers ripped.

This was not the first body dumped here. She knew it would not be the last.

She knelt down at the man's side and looked closer, expecting to see gunshot or stab wounds or the marks of strangulation.

Breathing.

He was breathing.

Kathy quickly pressed the fingers of her right hand against the man's throat. A rapid thready pulse beat against her fingertips and she swore under her breath, groped at her belt for her radio, put it to her mouth and began calling for an ambulance.

-o0o-

At first there was only light, painfully bright and blurred. Then there was heat. And finally pain, vague mostly but sometimes sharp, stealing his breath for a moment before it settled back into the distance. He wanted to stay in that far off haze but something kept tugging him away and finally he understood what it was.

Voices.

Different tones, all harsh buzzing like static on a radio, fading and rising but always there. And there was one voice in particular, insistent and gradually becoming distinct from the mindless chatter of the rest.

"…you…na…?"

Another voice rumbled like a far off aeroplane.

"Can you…your name, sir?"

There was familiarity in that phrase, words connecting to understanding.

"Can you tell me your name?"

His chest felt like a rock was pushing down on it. "Sp…" His lips and tongue refused to work and he tried to swallow, found he couldn't. For the first time he felt a flutter of panic and on its rush managed to force out. "Spen...er."

"Spencer?" The voice repeated. "We're just making you more comfortable, Spencer, OK?"

He believed her because he could feel it seeping through him and he relaxed into its soft embrace.

"Stay with me, Spencer. Keep your eyes open, OK? Can you do that for me?"

He blinked up at the yellow and peach blur above him.

"That's great, Spencer. We're getting some fluids in you and you should be feeling a lot better very soon, OK?"

Better…? Was he ill? It was so hard to think and so easy just to drift…

"Stay awake, Spencer!"

He forced himself to look at her again, finally focusing enough to see a ruddy cheeked woman in her late forties staring down at him. Her lips were moving. It took effort to listen and focus at the same time but he did it.

"Can you tell me your last name?"

"Reh…Reid."

"Spencer Reid?"

"Yes."

"We're going to move you now, Spencer. We need to get you to the hospital." And her voice melded away into the jumble of the others.

He felt his body lifted, jostled and a sharp sensation clawed at his left arm. He moved his right arm, the motion coming out jerky as if the limb had gone to sleep. He flopped his right hand clumsily against the pain, numb fingers pushing against the sharpness. It hurt even more.

His hand was immediately immobilised.

"That's an IV you can feel, Spencer. You need to leave it in, OK. You're very dehydrated."

The restraint faded away and he became aware that he was gliding. He moved his head and saw the confines of the inside of an ambulance had taken the place of the blue sky. The woman leaned over him, blocking his view.

"It won't be long now, OK?"

-o0o-

Kathy stood in the waiting area, reluctant to sit down like the other occupants of the room who huddled in small knots quietly awaiting news of their loved ones. She felt like an intruder among them but then, that was nothing new. She always felt vaguely out of place in the city, especially in her ranger's uniform, as if the very buildings were rejecting her.

A deputy appeared in the doorway and signalled her to his side. He was a young man with a round and pleasant face and he held his hat in his hands almost like a shield. She remembered seeing him when they'd arrived at the hospital, although she had forgotten his name. They moved out into the mostly empty corridor to limit the disturbance.

"Hope you weren't planning on an early night." He said.

She glanced at her watch and gave a wry smile. It was gone eleven at night. "Too late for that."

"Gonna be even later. I just got off the phone with FBI. That kid you found. He's a Fed."

"Spencer?"

"Yeah, Bureau must recruit in junior high these days." But the words lacked humour and his eyes were serious. "That kid's been missing for the last 3 days and well… I didn't get much of a look but what I did see…" He trailed off.

Kathy nodded. "Yeah."

"They're on their way now, Kathy. They'll wanna talk to you." He said. "You could wait here of course, but you might be home sooner if you come with me to meet them."

Kathy glanced back along the corridor to the emergency room, reluctant to leave without knowing if the kid was going to be all right.

The deputy smiled. "I guess they'll be headed here straight away anyway." He put his hat back on his head. "Don't go disappearing now. I don't wanna have to explain to the Feds that I've lost their chief witness."

-o0o-

**Coos Bay Police Department**

"They've found him," JJ said breathlessly and immediately saw the cautious reception to the news in their eyes. "He's alive." She reassured them and the relief that was missing washed over their faces.

"Is he OK?" Gideon asked.

"The deputy I spoke to didn't have many details, but he did say Reid's was being treated for severe dehydration." She told them. "A ranger found him 5 miles outside Chiloquin. They've taken him to the hospital at Klamath Falls."

"Chiloquin?" Lyons repeated as he came up behind her. "That's over a hundred miles from here."

"How the hell did he get there?" Morgan said. "We checked the security cameras on every bus terminal, train station and airport in the Bay Area."

"We'll check them again." Lyons volunteered and JJ offered him a smile of thanks.

"Have Garcia to check transport terminals in the Klamath area." Prentiss told JJ.

"He won't be on them. I don't believe Reid left by choice." Gideon said.

"Agreed." Hotch's voice was raised as if he intended it to carry across the department. JJ glanced over to where the chief's office was and knew Hotch's intent. "The distance and skill involved in removing Reid without detection strongly suggests a highly organised UnSub familiar with the area."

Gideon grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair and began to walk out. "Tell the jet to expect us." He said.

"Already done." JJ replied as the team followed. "And we should have clearance to land at Klamath airport by the time we board."

-o0o-

**Klamath Falls, Oregon**

It was a short flight from Southwest Oregon Regional Airport to Klamath Falls but the team used the time wisely, conferring with Garcia and referencing her previous work for connections to the Chiloquin area. Underneath the professionalism there was a tension that hung in the closeted air inside the plane and Gideon could feel it gnawing at the back of his mind.

It was dark when the plane landed. There was a deputy waiting for them at the side of the runway with several police cars on standby.

"Deputy Modoc?" JJ asked, holding out her hand. "Agent Jareau, we spoke on the phone."

"Please to meet you, ma'am."

JJ introduced the team. They all exchanged handshakes.

"How's Reid?" Gideon asked.

"Last I heard he was conscious but confused." He replied. "I can take you there now."

The team got into the police cars for the short journey to the hospital.

Once there, Modoc led them inside to the waiting area where a Ranger, a middle aged woman of native American decent, greeted them.

"This is Kathy Parazoo." Modoc said. "She's the ranger who found your agent."

At her side was a doctor who quickly introduced himself, "Dr Finkel," he said.

Gideon shook his hand. "How is he?"

"He's responding well to treatment although I am concerned that he's still not passing urine. Judging by the severity of his dehydration I would say he has been without food or water for several days."

"He was missing for 3 days."

"Based on his symptoms, yes, I would agree three days. He's awake and becoming more coherent. He was very confused when he was admitted, more so than you would normally expect so I've ordered full toxicology."

"He was drugged?"

Gideon hated the tone in Hotch's voice and knew what he was thinking.

"I can't confirm that until we have the results, but yes, I believe so."

"With narcotics?" The edge in Hotch's voice cut like a knife and Gideon had to ball his fists to keep from reacting to it.

"That I couldn't say."

"But he's otherwise OK, right?" Morgan asked.

The doctor paused noticeably. Gideon felt fear slice through his anger, obliterating it.

"Physically, yes. He has some deep cuts on his feet and scratches to his body, injuries you would expect to see on someone lost in woods. However there are ligature marks on both his wrists and ankles and from the development of the bruising and by your time frame, I would say he has been tied for at least most of those 3 days. He also has what appears to be cigarette burns on his arms."

Gideon felt like a stone was stuck in his throat but he forced words out passed it. "Were there any other signs of assault?"

Honest sympathy filled the doctor's eyes. "I'll need to do a full exam when he's off IV to confirm that." He replied. "But I don't believe so, no."

"We've taken his clothes for evidence." The deputy said. "Samples too."

"Can we see him?" Gideon asked.

"Only one of you and don't stay long."

There was never a question about who that would be.

-o0o-

Gideon walked into the small curtained bay just off the main emergency room. Reid lay on a gurney hooked up to an IV. There was an oximeter on the index finger of his left hand and several sensors on his chest. He looked pale and his eyes, more darkly shadowed than Gideon had ever seen, had sunken into their sockets while his cheekbones stood out starkly in his hollowed cheeks.

A nurse was leaning over Reid, holding a cup of water with a straw in it to his cracked lips. She looked up as Gideon entered and gave a smile before putting the cup down.

Gideon heard Reid mumble something.

"Sorry." The nurse replied. "Only tiny sips right now."

She moved around to check the almost empty catheter bag at the end of the gurney then noted something down on his records.

"How is he?" Gideon asked.

"He's begun passing urine. That's a good sign." She smiled. "I'll be outside if you need anything."

Gideon stepped closer to the bed. "Reid?" He called. "Spencer?"

The young man's head lolled on the pillow, turning towards his voice. Hair flopped over his eyes. Gideon brushed the dirty strands off his forehead and cursed himself inwardly for looking subconsciously for the signs of Dilaudid withdrawal. He took Reid right hand in his and felt the young man's fingers tighten weakly in response. He could see the developing welts around his wrist.

"Spencer?"

Reid's eyes fluttered open and his lips moved. Gideon watched him try to speak then to swallow. He failed at both. But it didn't take a lip reader to recognise the word he had tried to say.

Gideon took the cup and pressed the straw to Reid's lips and was relieved to see how strongly the young man sucked at the end. A trickle of water escaped the side of his mouth and Reid coughed, choking on the mouthful.

Gideon pulled the straw away and put the cup down. "You'll get me into trouble with your nurse."

"Gideon?" His voice was a dry croak.

Gideon smiled at the sound of his name and yet it fell away when Reid spoke again.

"What happened?"

-end of part one-

.

.


	5. Presence: Part Two

Note: If you haven't read the warnings in chapter one, please do so now. Thanks J

….

Gideon sat down on the edge of the gurney. "You don't remember?"

Reid frowned and his eyes seemed to lose focus. After a moment, he licked his cracked lips and croaked out. "We caught the UnSub."

"Yes."

"I was packing." The young man's frown deepened. Gideon had seen that expression maybe a hundred times. He wore it often in front of an incident board, marker between his fingers, pulling together the treads of a case into something coherent and until this moment, it had never ceased to make Gideon feel proud. Right now, the only feeling it inspired was fear.

"You went back to the hotel alone." He reminded him. "Did you meet anyone?"

Out of the corner of Gideon's eye, he could see the rhythm of Reid's heartbeat speed up on the monitor but he kept his focus on the young man's face. After a long moment, Reid answered. "No." The word was not spoken with any conviction and Gideon felt a vague ache in the pit of his stomach as if he'd been lied to.

The nurse reappeared. "You should let him rest now, sir."

Gideon pushed down his frustration at the interruption and simply squeezed Reid's hand. "I'll be back tomorrow."

Reid smiled, his eyes falling shut.

-o0o-

Kathy glanced at her watch. It was past one in the morning and even the simple act of standing was wearing her out. The only thing keeping her upright and alert was a vague sense of alarm at being the centre of attention in the small circle of FBI agents.

"Where did you find Reid?" Hotch asked.

"About 8 miles east of the Dallas-California Highway," she replied. "He was lying on the side of the road that runs through the heart of the forest."

"We'll need to secure the area to limit any more contamination." He told her.

"I've already sent a couple of deputies up there to section off the area." Modoc said.

"Tell us about the road. Is it a popular route?"

"It's pretty remote. If you're going to dump someone without being seen, that's the place to do it."

"You would have to have local knowledge?"

"Some, yeah. Sun Pass doesn't get the visitors of Crater Lake or Fremont. You're agent looked like he'd been wandering in the woods for some time. He's lucky he got himself to the roadside when he did."

The agents focus on her shifted when another Fed joined them.

"How's Reid?" Morgan asked.

"Did he tell you what happened?" Hotch added.

"We only spoke for a few minutes." Gideon replied. "He doesn't remember what happened."

"His doctor said he was confused." Hotch pointed out. "When he's lucid-"

"He was lucid."

"Head injury?" Prentiss suggested. "Traumatic stress?"

"The doctor would have told us about any injuries." Gideon replied which left her other suggestion hanging like a black cloud in the air.

"We'll conduct a cognitive interview in the morning." Hotch said. "If there's one thing we've learnt about Reid, it's that his mind is exceptional." He looked at his watch. "It's late. We should all get some sleep."

"Go." Gideon said. "I want to talk to Reid's doctor."

-o0o-

**15 May **

**Sun Pass State Forest, Oregon**

The dirt road cut through the trees in a remarkably straight line that ran as far as the eye could see. Emily stared into the distance, awed by the ancient majesty of the forest. These lands had once been the tribal grounds of the Klamath and the rush of the wind through the branches seemed almost a lament to that lost way of life.

She looked over at Hotch, who was surveying the ground. The dirt was criss-crossed with footprints and tire tracks from the emergency services, obliterating anything that might have been useful. She hoped that the officers dotted in a circle around the site would have more luck.

There was the sound of a car approaching and Emily looked back to see a 4 by 4 halt just beyond the tapes.

The driver got out. He was an elderly Native American man with a weathered face and long grey streaked dark hair tied with leather. He stopped at the tapes and called out. "Kathy."

"This is my husband." Kathy told them as they walked towards the newcomer.

"Hal Pazoo." He said and held out his hand.

"He's a pretty good tracker. Probably the best in the county. He'll find where your agent went if you're willing to let him."

"Agent Hotchner," he said and shook his hand. "This is Agent Prentiss. We'd appreciate any help you could give us."

-o0o-

**Klamath Falls Medical Centre, Oregon**

Reid sat up in bed. In front of him, on the hospital table, was a tray with various breakfast items on it, largely uneaten although not obviously so. He pushed the scrambled eggs around with his fork, creating gaps between the lumps, broke the toast into small pieces and nibbled a few, scrapped the maple syrup off the pancakes and mashed them into crumps.

He drank the coffee.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to play with your food?"

Reid looked up in the direction of Morgan's voice. The agent stood in the doorway with Gideon at his side. He frowned. "No."

"How are you?" Gideon asked.

He looked down at the food he'd destroyed. That felt like a better answer than the one he gave. "I'd be better if this gown closed at the back."

Morgan smiled.

Gideon pulled up a chair and sat. "Do you remember anything more?"

Reid distracted himself by taking the last mouthful of coffee. He felt vaguely sick when he concentrated, trying to find something concrete, even if it was just a clearly defined 'cut off' point in his memories, but there wasn't. He remembered walking to the hotel and then… being here. "No."

"We should try a cognitive interview." Gideon said.

He nodded and sat back, shifting nervously.

"Relax, man." Morgan told him. "You know how to do this."

"Close your eyes." Gideon murmured his voice soft. "You remembered we caught the UnSub."

"Frederick Dean."

"You went back to the hotel."

"I wanted to walk." He remembered that, seeing the bright light outside.

"OK…you decided to walk. It was warm…the sun was shining…tell me what you see…"

"There's a lot of traffic on the road…cars…"

"Can you see the faces of the drivers? Passengers?"

"Yeah… I don't recognise anyone." He could see the cars, clear in his memory, backed up and moving a snail's pace. He could smell the fumes. "I don't like the cars." He could see himself take a turning into the park, a longer route to the hotel but worth it. He told them about the family playing Frisbee, the man walking his dog, the girl on roller-skates… Normal, everyday moments so far removed from the Coos Bay he'd seen so far. Here there were no disembowelled drug addicts, no dead prostitutes, just life. He repeated the snatches of conversation he'd overheard, his eidetic memory never failing him. He remembered the chill of the hotels air con after the heat of the outside; he remembered packing but then…

"Linen…I smell linen." A jumble of colour and sensation flashed behind the smell, the familiar rolling noise of a bad storm in the distance. "Thunder… One-two…ten… " Dark shadows, blurred movements, the glowing end of a cigarette… "Don't burn me!" He pulled his arm away from Gideon, cradling it to his chest.

"Reid!" Morgan yelled.

He opened his eyes. Gideon's concerned face hovered over his.

"Did you see his face?"

"I could…I only-" Reid relaxed his arm, drawing their attention to the small circular marks dotted around the inside of his elbow. "I only saw the cigarette."

"You did really good, Kid." Morgan said and Reid could see the pages of notes he'd made. Despite the ugliness of the situation, he couldn't help feeling some fascination at experiencing this side of a cognitive interview.

"Why can't I remember?"

"I think I can answer that." Reid's doctor entered the room carrying a file. "I have your toxicology report. You tested positive for flunitrazepam."

-o0o-

Hal led Hotch through the forest, pointing out occasional divots in the ground from Reid's feet as he tracked an erratic path that seemed to zigzag from tree to tree. He had even found a scrap of fabric from Reid's shirt.

After 30 minutes, he stopped in a small clearing just off a dirt path. Hal scanned around. "His tracks end here."

There were tire tracks cut into the ground in a circle where a vehicle had turned through 360 degrees. Hotch watched him carefully pick his way around them then crouched down.

"He was brought here." Hotch said.

Hal pointed at some disturbed loam. Hotch tried to read the events in the marks. "They struggled." He concluded.

"Reid fought him?"

"Yes."

Hotch got out his phone to call for the CSI.

"Thank you."

-o0o-

"That's Rohypnol, right?" Morgan asked.

Dr Finkel nodded. "Its reputation is well earned. It induces ante retrograde amnesia." He looked at Reid. "I doubt you will ever recover your memories of the last 3 days."

Reid nodded to indicate he understood but his thoughts were elsewhere. The burning cigarette in his mind morphed into a gun, clicking audibly on an empty chamber as Raphael played Russian roulette centimetres from his forehead. Reid blinked away the image. He knew enough to know that the relief he felt at the doctor's words would not last, that not knowing could be just as an exquisite torture as knowing, but right now, that failed to inspire any fear or disappointment. Especially when the clutch of fear in his chest was targeted elsewhere.

He looked up at the doctor. "Was there anything else?"

Finkel shifted slightly. "Perhaps we could talk privately?"

"Sure." Morgan said and they both got up. "Can we get you anything?"

"More coffee."

Morgan grinned and reached out to briefly squeeze his shoulder.

Reid watched their backs as they walked away and didn't even realise until he heard his own voice what he was doing. "Gideon?"

He didn't want to have this conversation alone.

"I'll…er… have Garcia check online purchases." Morgan said, trying to sound casual about his exclusion and failing. "See you later, kid."

Gideon returned to the bed when he was gone.

Reid swallowed nervously. "Was I given narcotics?"

Gideon frowned. "Are you craving?"

"No…not yet. But er, if I'm going to, I don't want it to be a surprise."

"We didn't prescribe anything." The doctor told him, frowning.

"And the UnSub?"

"There was no evidence of that in your blood work but it's possible a drug could have left your system." Finkel admitted. "Is there something I should know, Mr Reid?"

"Dr Reid." Gideon corrected.

Reid looked down at the burns on his arm. "The pattern is the same as needle marks." Then he looked up at the doctor and answered the unspoken question. "I should know."

"Reid-" There was a note of warning in Gideon voice, reminding him of the importance of keeping his dependence secret.

He looked at Gideon and admitted quietly, "I can't go through that again."

Gideon took his hand. "If you have to, you will find the strength," he told him, "and I will be there with you every step of the way."

-o0o-

Morgan got out his cell phone and dialled.

"Garcia."

"You light up my world, Baby Girl." He smiled his best smile at the phone as if she could see it. "I need you to shine some of that magic on David Price's computer. See if he's bought any medications online, in particular flunitrazepam."

"OK."

He frowned. He didn't think he'd ever heard her give one word answers before. "I'm still standing the dark. You OK?"

"Morgan, I just got a copy of forensics taken from Reid's clothes." Her voice shook a little. "They found traces of semen on his shirt and pants."

-end of part two-

.

.

.


	6. Presence: Part Three

.

"Morgan?"

The only reply was a sharp thud, like a fist striking wood, and Garcia jumped. The movement knocked the glass hummingbird she'd perched on the edge of the keyboard and it clattered to the floor.

She leant down to pick it up. The delicate thin strands of coloured glass that made up its wings had shattered. With a sigh, she used her thumb to clean the little creature as if the action could comfort the broken bird. She flinched as the sharp edge sliced into her skin and drew a bead of blood.

As she sucked on her thumb, she listened to the faint hum from her ear piece. The line had gone silent, the connection cut.

-o0o-

Dr Finkel flipped through the sheets on his clipboard. "We also found another substance in your blood work," he told Reid. "We detected a PDE5 inhibitor. Is this something you use yourself, medically or…recreationally?"

Reid looked at Gideon, saw the shock he immediately tried to hide, and then turned back to the doctor. His stomach hurt, like his colon had twisted into a knot. "No." He heard himself say and Finkel noted that down.

Gideon's hand tightened in his arm. "I'd like a copy of the report."

"Of course."

Reid was aware of their voices – long term side effects: none, treatment: rest - but it all felt very distance, almost unreal. He wanted to get back to his hotel room in Coos Bay, to the bed he'd sat on as he sorted his coursework before stowing it carefully in his satchel ready for the flight home. He thought about lying back and dozing like he had then so that he could wake up and have everything make sense.

Morgan's voice broke through the jumble. "Gideon."

Reid looked up. Morgan stood in the doorway and moved his head to indicate outside.

Gideon squeezed his arm briefly before getting up. "I'll be back." He promised.

Reid watched him go, aware they were probably going to talk about him and yet feeling little anger about it. When he was gone, Reid looked up at the doctor.

"Was I…?" He couldn't ask the rest.

"No." He replied. "You have no injuries consistent with a physical assault."

He felt no relief at those words. They merely confirmed what his own assessment of his body had told him. He looked down at the burn marks, the only sign the UnSub had injured him and felt nothing beyond an aching fear that the pattern, so similar to the needle marks that had dotted his arm for the last few months, heralded his return to that dark chapter of his life.

"The flunitrazepam would likely have been administered by injection and probably combined with alcohol." The doctor told him. "And I would agree the burns were an attempt to conceal that. I doubt you were given anything narcotic." He paused, probably waiting for a reply. Reid didn't have one to give. "We have a psychologist on staff. Perhaps you'd like to talk with her?"

He looked up. "When can I get out of here?" He asked.

The doctor looked a little surprised at the sudden question then considered for a moment. "If your tests come back clear, I see no reason why you can't leave later on today."

-o0o-

Morgan led Gideon out into the corridor. The indistinct sounds of the hospital echoed down the hallways, a strangely muffled background to his words. Words that was as hard to say as they had been to hear.

"Reid was sexually assaulted."

Gideon's eyes were sad and there was no surprise in them. "I know." He admitted softly. "They found a PDE5 inhibitor in his blood."

The implications of that clawed at Morgan's gut. "Does he know?"

Gideon shook his head. "I don't think it's sunk in yet." He said and looked back at the door to Reid's room. "When it does…" He trailed off and didn't speak for a long moment and then…

"David Price had no history of sexual violence." He said but underneath the professional tone Morgan heard pain. "He's doesn't profile as a man capable of this." He paused. "Call Hotch. Fill him in. We'll meet at the police department at 3. I'll stay with Reid until then."

Morgan got out his phone as Gideon returned to Reid's room. He put it back in his pocket a second later when he saw Dr Finkel leave.

"Hey Doc?"

Finkel stopped.

"I need to ask you a few questions." He said.

"Of course."

"When we interviewed Reid, he remembered some things. Smells. Sounds."

"Some recall is common, more so with lower doses," he told him. "However, I would estimate that Dr Reid was given a high dosage and repeatedly over the 3 days. Probably administered intravenously and given the level of his dehydration I would say it was delivered in an alcohol solution. He would have felt extremely intoxicated and experienced a high level of confusion and possibly disinhibition. He would not have been capable of making any rational choices or of resisting anything that was done to him."

"And the inhibitor?"

"Would serve no purpose in restraining him." Finkel thought a moment. "Speculation beyond that is not my area of expertise."

Morgan's chest felt tight. "So… part of the assault."

Finkel nodded. "Yes."

Morgan swallowed to ease the hollow tugging at the back of his throat. "Is it possible he'll remember more?"

"Total recall? No. Some isolated memories, perhaps. It's unlikely but not impossible."

"Will he be OK?"

"There will no lasting effects once the initial… 'hangover' for want of a better term wears off."

"How did he react when you told him?"

Finkel frowned. "Is that relevant to your investigation?"

"I'm asking as his friend."

"And I can only reply as his doctor." Finkel replied and offered no more than that.

Morgan fought down his frustration at that answer. "Thank you."

"I hope you catch him, agent."

-o0o-

**Klamath Falls Police Department**

The team sat around the table in the small conference room at the back of the department. In front of them were the various reports and crime scene shots the KFPD had gathered. Hotch summed up the CSI's conclusions made from their examination of both scenes at Sun Pass. From foot prints found at the scene, they now had a rough guide to the UnSub's size and build to add to their profile. He was a man of 6 foot with an average build. He had driven Reid into the clearing in the forest in a four wheel drive. Once there, it appeared they had fought and Reid had got away.

"It's unlikely," Hotch said, "that he intended to kill Reid. His use of flunitrazepam to induce memory loss would suggest otherwise."

"Unless he changed his mind," Prentiss pointed out. "Decided not to risk the possibly that Reid would remember."

"No." Hotch said. "At this point, Reid was severely dehydrated, very confused and extremely weak. He would have been easy to kill or recapture if that had been the intention."

"Maybe he was hoping Reid would die of exposure before he was found." Emily said.

"That's possible." Hotch admitted. "But we're dealing with a highly organised UnSub. I don't think he would have left that to chance."

"The question is, did he drive there simply to dump Reid or did he bring him to the Klamath area shortly after the abduction?" Gideon said.

"Reid had to have been in the Bay Area." JJ said, her voice certain and she pointed to the report Morgan had written up after Reid's cognitive interview. "He heard thunder and he counted to ten. Ten miles. We were three. I know because I was counting too."

"The storm would have covered a large area." Prentiss pointed out.

"We'll have Garcia check how large." Hotch said. "And if the storm crossed this area before or after reaching Coos Bay."

Gideon looked up from the medical report he was studying. "We know the UnSub has strong connections to south west Oregon. He is mostly likely to be someone Reid has had contact with, is medically knowledgeable, and we now know that his choice of victim was both need based and sexual in nature." His tone was professional but the proof of how hard those words were to say was written in his eyes. "There was no sign of tearing or bruising to anus, mouth or genitals."

"Thank God." Emily murmured.

Morgan's fist tightened, nails digging in to his palm. He knew, more personally, _bitterly_, than he would ever want to know or admit to, that the comfort she took from that was misplaced.

"Are we assuming this was an attempted rape?" She asked.

"Release is always the goal and he achieved that." Gideon said. "Perhaps the act of drugging and having complete control and domination was a substitute for penetration."

"Dr Finkel confirmed that the use of the inhibitor was sexually motivated." Morgan said.

JJ made a small distressed sound and looked away. Morgan saw Emily reach across and take her hand.

"I know how hard this is for everybody," Hotch said. "But we need to concentrate on the profile. It's our best chance of helping Reid."

-o0o-

**The Falls Hotel, Klamath Falls**

Since Reid's clothes and bags were still back at the Coos Bay Police Department where they had been sent after forensic analysis, Morgan fetched the cleanest of his clothes from his hotel to give him. Gideon waited at the end of the hallway, next to the elevators. Morgan hurried out of his room, dodging around a member of the cleaning staff who was piling used bed sheets into a large wheeled bin. This one was even more of an obstacle than the ones at the Bay View.

He stopped.

"Gideon." He called out and grabbed a handful of the laundry. "Reid said he smelled linen."

The cleaner looked nervously at him.

Gideon came forward, looking down at the commercial laundry bin. It was easily big enough to hold a man.

"No one takes notice of the cleaners." Gideon said. "You stop seeing them."

Morgan got out his phone and quickly dialled.

"Speak and your oracle will listen."

"Baby Girl, I need you pull up everything we know about cleaning staff at Bay View Hotel."

"Everyone came up whiter that their starched sheets." She replied. "How's Reid?"

"We're on our way to get him from the hospital. We need to look again at the staff. I have a theory on how the UnSub got Reid out of the hotel."

He heard her tapping away. "Sending files to your PDA now." Her fingers fell silent. "Tell Reid- Give him-"

He smiled. "I will."

-o0o-

**Klamath Falls Medical Centre, Klamath Falls**

The clothes Morgan had brought him – black jeans and a dark green V-neck t-shirt – felt rough against Reid's skin and he fidgeted uncomfortably in them. He had belted the jeans around his waist, pulling right to the very last hole, but they still rode low on his hips and bagged badly. The T-shirt, form fitting on Morgan, was a little loose but he guessed he didn't look as bad as he'd expected. His hair was still damp from the shower he taken and flopped lifelessly over his brow despite repeated attempts to tuck it behind his ears.

"Ready?" Gideon asked from the doorway.

Reid nodded and allowed himself to be escorted out of the hospital, offering little waves of thanks to a couple of doctors and a few members of the nursing staff as he passed.

An SUV was parked outside with Morgan behind the wheel. Reid slipped into the back seat and watched out the window as they drove through the town.

At the hotel, the rest of the team crowded around him, their obvious relief at having him back with them a little overwhelming. Hotch smiled warmly when he shook his hand. JJ and Emily both pulled him into hugs. He accepted their greetings with embarrassed discomfort and was glad when Gideon shepherded him upstairs to his room.

"I bought you this." Gideon held out the familiar brown file he kept his coursework in. "In case you couldn't sleep."

Reid took it with a shy smile and looked down at Morgan's baggy jeans. "You couldn't have brought my clothes too?"

"You buy them off the peg when they wear out. They tell me nothing about you." Gideon indicated the file. "That does."

And Reid understood. Gideon had brought his work to read in the hope of finding something in Spencer's writings to explain his disappearance. "You profiled my homework?"

Gideon spread his hands. "It's what I do."

"Did…er… my critique of Habermas' theory of truth tell you anything?"

"A couple of things." He smiled. "The first is: you value education and you wouldn't have walked out on your life without it."

"And the second?"

"That the philosophical debate on the nature of truth is a great cure for insomnia." But there was too much kindness in his eyes and his smile for the gentle jibe to hurt.

Reid rocked on his heels. "Appropriate though," he offered another smile. "It's pretty much all I have of the last 3 days." His hands tightened on the file as he avoided Gideon's eyes. "A consensus theory. What happened to me agreed by the many."

"Spencer…"

His vision blurred, the world turning watery. Gideon reached out and squeezed his shoulder. "I'm really tired." He lied, his tone pitched high with unshed tears.

"We can work on that tomorrow." Gideon said, clearly reluctant to leave but not forcing the issue. "Try to get some sleep."

Reid said goodnight and opened the door to his hotel room. The inside was dark and he clicked the light on before dashing away the traitorous moisture collecting on his lashes.

After a moment, he made himself a cup of strong black coffee before sitting down at the small table to pull his work from the file and immerse himself in the world of letters.

Hours passed and his head lolled on his hand, eyelids growing heavy and falling shut only to blink open again.

It worked for a while.

But then he slept.

-o0o-

_He was in a room lit by firelight. He could see it flickering on the walls… The walls that were made of logs cut and piled up, one on top of the other until they disappeared into the darkness above him. There was a faint smell of smoke and something meaty cooking. He could hear the hiss as it sizzled over the flames._

_He could feel…_

_There were… _

_Hands touching him…_

Morgan jolted awake.

.

.

.

Notes –

Google maps was invaluable in the writing of "presence" (since the closest I've been to Oregon is swimming in the sea off Tenerife's Los Gigantes.)

Parazoo is a recognised Native American decendents name.

Jurgen Habermas and his support of truth theory is genuine.


	7. Broken Things

-o0o-

**Broken Things**

**JJ:**

"Anton Chekhov wrote:

_Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass_."

**16 May 2007**

**The Falls Hotel**

Morgan shivered in the chill night air. The T-shirt he'd pulled on in his haste to get out of his claustrophobic hotel room was far too thin for the temperature but going back inside was out of the question.

He didn't want sleep again.

He didn't want to dream of Carl.

Klamath Falls fell silent at night, so unlike Washington or Chicago, with their ever present rumble of traffic and shriek of police sirens that continued through the small hours.

Behind him, the walls of the hotel loomed. Morgan could see the window of his own room and Gideon's room and sandwiched between them, Reid's. His lights were still on. He was probably still awake.

At any other time, he would have gone up and knocked, kept the kid company, try to get him to talk. But he felt too raw right now and Reid didn't need to see that. He had enough pain to deal with. Morgan wouldn't burden him with more.

At least… that's what he told himself.

"Can't sleep?"

Morgan looked around at the voice. Hotch stood behind him, cell phone in hand.

"Looks like I'm not the only one."

"I'm trying to call Haley. There's no reception in my room." There was no emotion in his statement but Morgan knew how hard these last few weeks must have been for him, cut off from his family. Hotch put his phone away. "Nothing here either."

"Probably the mountains. There's a phone in the lobby." Morgan told him, but guessed that might to too public for the kind of conversation Hotch wanted to have.

"She's probably asleep anyway." Hotch replied.

"Someone has to be." Morgan looked up at Reid's light, drawing Hotch's attention. "Been on the whole time I been sitting here."

"How long is that?"

"Kid probably forgot to turn it off." Morgan sidestepped the question. "Or left it on on purpose."

"Maybe one of us should speak to him." Hotch said. "He needs to talk about this."

"He's Reid." Morgan stated. "He'll talk."

"Are you sure?"

Morgan fought down the anger curling in his gut. He knew the 'one of us' meant him, because…that's what he did. And he was good at it.

He didn't reply, hoping Hotch would get the message and back off.

"Did you?" Hotch asked directly as if the question were nothing.

Morgan's head snapped up and Hotch bowed his slightly, almost as if to back down.

"I'm sorry." He said. "I know…certain aspects of this case are difficult for you."

"Don't," Morgan stood up, "tell me about things you do _not_ know about." He said and walked back into the hotel.

-o0o-

Garcia jabbed at her keyboard with the blunt end of a feather covered pen. In her other hand was a large mug of the blackest coffee she'd ever drunk. The words on her screens were starting to blur as her attention lapsed a second here, a moment there.

It would feel so good just to put her head down, right here on the desk, just for a few minutes.

She leant forward, putting down the mug while the pen slipped out of her fingers with a clatter. Just a few minutes… Her eyes caught on the little glass hummingbird with its broken filigree wings. Its green bead eyes seemed to stare accusingly at her. Garcia straightened up and gulped more coffee.

"OK," she murmured to herself, "focus Garcia… Milo Kullen…"

-o0o-

The bright yellows and oranges of the flowers seemed almost luminous in the pinkish dawn light. The contrast of their colours against the dark grey gravestone was sharp and cutting. There were weeds poking through the white shale marking the grave, one so high the puffy top touched the dull lettering. Hands ripped them up, tossed them aside, broken and torn, restoring the words to their original starkness.

Daniel Marcus Price.

-o0o-

**The Falls Hotel, Klamath Falls**

Prentiss carried her coffee into the almost empty dining room. Reid was sitting at the far end of table with an untouched bottle of cola and a plate of what appeared to be the shredded pieces of a pink iced doughnut at his side. He had police files open in front of him and didn't seem to register her entrance. She stared at his bent head, watched his lips move as his finger ran down the page.

"Hey." She said, taking the seat next to his.

He gave no indication he was aware of her presence and his only reaction to her greeting was to glance at his watch. She leaned in to see what he was reading. Case files.

His case files.

She wanted to snatch them back, protect him from the cold and clinical words spelling out his assault, but it already too late. He'd had them in his possession for who knew how long and Prentiss knew that even a couple of minutes were ample time for him to have read every word. Twice.

"Reid?"

The finger continued its journey downwards and just as she was about to say his name again, he finally looked up at her, then down at his watch again before giving her any attention.

"You ruled out 3 of your initial 4 suspects," Reid commented. "Leaving David Price." He put Price's photo to one side.

"It's unlikely that David Price is our UnSub."

"Geographical analysis would have brought you to that conclusion sooner." He told her and laid out a map. "David Price has always lived and worked north of Florence. Coos Bay lies to the south." He took up a marker pen and marked the Bay View Hotel's location.

"You're the expert on geographical analysis. The rest of us don't see patterns the way you do."

"But honestly? Looking through his record, I can't imagine why he was even considered."

"Do you remember what he said to you?"

He looked up from the files, frowning. "I have an eidetic memory, Emily."

"We had to take his threats seriously."

"David Price was a spousal abuser who, according to his wife's medical records, was clever enough never to mark her face. He has no history of sexual violence."

"We didn't know that was part of the pattern until-" She cut off her reply.

"Until you read my medical report." He laid another file over the map, flipping it open so she could see the photos of his injuries. They recorded the welts around his wrists and the burns to his arms but Emily found her eyes drawn more to the real ones he inadvertently displayed as he laid out the pictures. "I was lucky, actually." He said.

"Reid, there's no-"

"It's the truth." He cut her off. "My injuries are superficial. There are no signs I was raped either physically or orally so any assault that did occur was minor."

"There's no such thing as a minor assault," she argued. "You know that."

He continued talking over her with rapid words. "Additionally, I have no memory of what happened beyond a base sensory awareness of certain smells and sounds. I will not experience the flashbacks, nightmares or the intrusive thoughts associated with cognitive recall stored under the influence of the amygdala."

She stared at him as he talked. He spoke like this was any other case.

He looked at his watch. "Two minutes."

"What?"

"You've been sitting here for two minutes. Statistically, there has been another sexual assault while we've been talking. And that's just in the US." There was slight tremor in his voice and she was both frightened and relieved by it. Relieved to see a reaction and frightened by the pain it heralded. He picked up a broken piece of doughnut and tore it in half before looking up at her again. "Did you know that two thirds are committed by someone known to the victim and over half of those are close friends?"

She felt an irrational flicker of anger as if he was accusing the team. "They're just numbers Reid."

"Numbers…" He repeated, suddenly looking very young. She reached out to take his hand but he avoided her.

Footsteps interrupted them and Prentiss could almost feel Reid shut down again behind work.

Morgan put the laptop down in front of them.

"Garcia has something for us." He said.

-o0o-

Some minutes later, JJ and Gideon had both taken seats. Only Hotch was conspicuous by his absence and Garcia, who was still wearing the same clothes and had the same green and red ribbons in her hair from the day before, looked like she was stifling yawns between pen taps of exhaustion fuelled impatience.

Hotch entered the dining room, putting away his phone. His normally serious expression even darker than normal.

Gideon looked up questioningly.

"A little attention, if you please," Garcia said.

Hotch almost smiled. "It can wait."

"OK, after looking into everything in the Bay View staffs lives - and I do mean everything. You would not believe what people are willing to share on Facebook – so by about, oh, 3 o clock this morning, I knew that hotel owners Petra and Michael Smith enjoy pegging and that Sandy Payton has a tattoo of a scorpion somewhere I am too polite to mention but she has certainly is not."

"Figures." Morgan muttered.

"My sting is worse than hers, my sweet," she scolded and began tapping at her keyboard and files popped up next to her face. "But finally, I found this: Milo Kullen. 21 years old, born and raised in Florence, Oregon. He works for laundry service contracted to the Bay View Hotel."

The face of a young man with light brown hair and chubby plain looking face appeared. Prentiss glanced at Reid and was aware of the others doing the same thing. But he gave no reaction.

"Do you know him?" Gideon asked softly.

"I saw him at the hotel once." Reid replied. "He asked me about working for the FBI."

"Kullen expressed an interest in joining the bureau when he was in college." Garcia said. "He graduated high school at 15 and got a full scholarship to the Andrews-Marcello University in Michigan but he dropped out after 2 years when his father died to look after his mother – she has MS and never leaves the house – and began working part time for Reyes Laundry."

"A smart kid, forced to give up his future, frustrated by his menial job…" Gideon said. "Identifies with Reid, sees him with everything he wanted…"

"And for the win: he didn't turn up for work the day we found Reid and his mother has reported him as a missing person."

"This could be our UnSub." Prentiss said.

"Or another victim," Morgan added. "You could argue he fits victimology."

"Either way, this isn't our case anymore." Hotch said. "I just got off the phone with Strauss. We've been recalled."

"What?" Morgan cried.

"She wants us back at Quantico tomorrow. As far as she's concerned Reid's kidnapping is a matter for the Coos Bay PD. Reid will need to be certified fit for duty but the rest of us have 2 weeks of work waiting for us at Quantico."

-o0o-

**BAU private jet**

**Somewhere over Nebraska**

The lights had been dimmed inside the jet. Gideon sat at the back of the plane, his mind too full of questions to even begin to feel drowsy. On the opposite single seat was JJ who was reading a book. Morgan had taken one side of the two seater table and was preparing to block out the world with head phones. He looked up when Hotch approached and slid into the seat facing him. Gideon watched, concerned by the sudden tension in Morgan's shoulders. Hotch's words were low but Gideon was close enough to overhear.

"Last night…" He said. "I'm…sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

"You were worried about Reid." Morgan looked over at the young man. No-one had taken the space on the sofa so Reid had lain down on it.

"That doesn't give me the right to ask what I did and I apologise."

After a long moment, Morgan admitted. "You were right." He looked away. "I didn't."

He put his head phones on and closed his eyes. Hotch turned to look out at the darkness beyond the plane.

Gideon frowned. Another problem?

On the sofa, Reid's fingers twitched in his sleep. He looked peaceful. And Gideon was glad of it.

Because tomorrow he might wake up and accept the horror he'd been through, and then…

Maybe the boy would never sleep so soundly again.

.

.

.

Notes –

Reid is quoting RAINN statistics and the conclusions of the Rauch et al study into PTSD


	8. Human Nature: Part One

_._

_A/N: Sorry about the longer than average wait between updates. I had to work extra hours in the run up to the Jubilee bank holiday._

.

.

-o0o-

**Human Nature**

**11 June 2007**

**Quantico, Virginia**

Spencer sat beneath the old oak tree that stood in the grounds of the FBI and watched the rain pelt down beyond the safety of its thick canopy. His wet shirt and trousers adhered uncomfortably to his skin and leeched all the heat from his thin body. His hair was soaked, plastered to his forehead and fat droplets dripped from the strands to trickle down his cheeks and mix with the tears that silently welled up.

He heard steps behind him. He didn't need to look to know who it was.

He knew they'd come.

He rubbed the tears from his eyes. "I really messed up this time, didn't I?"

-o0o-

**Gideon:**

"_Talking much about oneself can also be a means to conceal oneself._

Frederick Nietzsche"

**18 May 2007**

**Washington, DC**

Reid stared at the white board he had propped up on the wooden chair placed in the centre of his apartment. Words and lines and tangent bubbles were dotted all over it in what might appear to be a haphazard fashion but were in fact following strictly to logic and probability algorithms. Despite this, all the information gathered about his disappearance and assault refused to meld in Reid's head into something solid no matter how hard he concentrated.

A knock on the door interrupted him and when he looked through the spyhole, it revealed the distorted form of Gideon.

He opened the door. "Hi."

Gideon held up the wooden box that Reid knew contained his best travel chess set. "If Mohammed won't come to the mountain…"

He didn't wait for an invite and stepped inside, putting the chess set down on the table before stopping in front of Reid's white board. He studied it in silence for long moments. Reid felt his gut churn as he fought down the desire to snatch the board away and hide it where it couldn't be seen.

Finally Gideon moved away, opened his box and began setting out the game.

"I…er…kind of forgot it was Friday." Reid said and it wasn't really a lie. He'd just been too caught up in his work to connect the day with their weekly chess game. But he took a seat at the table anyway, eyes flicking over to his whiteboard and felt a well of dread in his stomach that Gideon would want to talk about it.

Gideon didn't look up from the chess set. "How did it go with Dr Briar?" It was not the question he expected but answering it was no less unpleasant.

"I'm cleared for work on the 25th." He watched as Gideon lined up the black pawns. "I tried to tell him that I'm fine but he wouldn't listen."

"A few days off…" Gideon said. "Might be exactly what you need."

"Actually I was thinking of driving down to Everade University and sitting in on some of Professor Rhodes lectures."

Gideon began placing down the white pieces. "His last paper on heritable psychoses was brilliant. Flawed but brilliant." His finger adjusted the position of the white queen. "Dr Briar was worried about you."

Something ugly clawed at his heart. "I'm fine. My initial HIV test came back negative but I'll still have to continue prophylaxis for the full 4 weeks and retest again in 3 months." He glanced over at the desk where the packets of zidovudine, lamivudine and tenofovir were stacked. "And I'll need a standard STD screen next week." He was painfully aware of Gideon watching him. "My first actually."

"Reid-"

"It's mostly precautionary." He spoke over him. "There's a strong possibility that the cuts around my wrists came into contact with semen but the risk of infection is low." He didn't add that Dr Finkel had warned him that, since he had no memory of the assault, that it might not have fallen into the 36 hour window that PEP was indicated for and the cocktail of antivirals could be useless. "And this isn't the first time I've taken them. Until Tobias Hankel's autopsy confirmed him as HIV negative, I was given them as precaution because he was using his own needles to inject me." He moved his first pawn and looked up at Gideon.

After a moment, Gideon mirrored his move.

-o0o-

The beat of the music thundered in Morgan's ears. He could feel the bass reach right inside him to vibrate against his ribs. The girl felt warm against his skin, her dance moves bringing her into rhythmic contact with him. She smelt of dark musk and exotic flowers. Morgan closed his eyes.

This wasn't running away.

-o0o-

The chess game continued into the night, both the physical one in front of them and the unspoken one that Reid could see behind Gideon's eyes.

Gideon finally made the move that Reid was dreading. "That's good work."

Reid looked up.

"Your board." He turned his head towards the white board with all the information Reid had collated in clinical fashion as if the case had no connection to him at all.

Reid swallowed. "It's not complete."

Gideon picked up his knight and took one of Reid's pawns. "You estimated 2 assaults."

Reid felt his stomach clench. "At least," he replied, keeping his eyes on the game. He moved a bishop.

"Based on the spread of the samples taken from your clothes?" Gideon's fingers touched his queen briefly before receding. Reid took note of his indecision.

"There was spotting on both shirt cuffs as well as stains on the collar and my underwear. That's unlikely to be the result of only one assault." He frowned. "The stains on the cuffs suggest he used my hands which could be significant. I've asked Garcia to cross reference that with previous sexual assault cases. Forensics confirmed some of the DNA was mine so he was successful in his domination of me."

Gideon finally looked up at him. Reid met his gaze.

"Reid-"

He looked away. Decided then that he was going to lose anyway and conceded the game. "I can't feel anything." He finally admitted. "I mean, I know I should but…"

"You will."

Reid heard the note of certainty in his voice and bit his lip. He moved a pawn. "It's like a story I read."

Gideon took the pawn effortlessly. "That's natural."

Reid moved another pawn. "Is it?"

"Memories are a large part of who we are and how we react to situations." Gideon moved a knight. "You could say you have very little to base any kind of reaction on. What you do have, you read."

Reid tried to run probable moves in his head but his concentration was in pieces.

"On the other hand, a controlled response isn't uncommon. Emotional numbness, outward calm, disconnection… Sound familiar?"

Reid moved a chess piece randomly.

Gideon frowned at the careless move and quickly took Reid's last knight. "Check mate in nine."

Reid pushed his king over. He had already lost once and this was just an echo. He knew Gideon was watching him but didn't dare look up. He didn't want to see pity in his eyes.

"I'm a phone call away." Gideon said as he opened the wooden box to begin packing away. "Day or night."

-o0o-

**19 May 2007**

**Everade University, Richmond, Virginia**

Reid's hand ached from changing a flat on his Volvo as he hurried down the halls. He was late for class. Reid had been on Everade's post grad weekend programme for over a year but had only managed to sit in on about half the required lectures.

Spencer slipped quietly into the back of the lecture hall. Professor Rhodes stumbled to a halt in obvious surprise at his entrance and Spencer gave him a self-conscious wave and smile. It had been far too long since he'd kept up his commitments. The professor coughed and rummaged through his notes until he finally continued his lecture. He was a tall man, solidly built with wavy salt and pepper hair that was just beginning to recede and dressed, as always, in a Harris Tweed jacket. Reid had come to respect him a great deal.

Reid took out his notebook, opened it and settled back to listen. Rhodes' accent still held the flat tones of his native Britain, hidden beneath the American twangs he had picked up in over twenty years of living in states all over the US. The topic was sexual sadism and contained some of the very latest research.

"…what leads to sexual dominance?" Rhodes asked the class.

_Some of the DNA was mine so he was successful in his domination of me._

Reid closed his eyes, swallowed. His own words had been so clear…

He flipped open his textbook and tried to focus of the professor's voice.

"…using a variety of methods to subdue…"

The photographs of his injuries replaced the words in his book and he blinked to clear the images away.

"…such as Lyle Tate, who fetishized hands…"

Reid stared at his own hands, hands that had been used to…

When did he last wash his hands?

He could see the oil from the wheel nuts under his nails, thick and grimy. Why had he gone straight to class and not washed first?

He hid his hands under the desk. Out of sight, out of mind.

Rhodes lecture droned on but it was so difficult to concentrate. He knew he was letting Gideon and the rest of the team down by missing the opportunity to take in the latest research.

This could save lives.

Reid pinched the bridge of his nose and made a mental note to wash his face as well since he'd touched it with his dirty hands. He took a deep breath and forced himself to focus.

Time passed. Reid fidgeted and had to resort, for the first time in his life, to actually taking notes to keep his mind in the here and now. Then finally, thankfully, it ended.

Reid hurriedly got to his feet, snatched up his sachet and was one of the first students to make it to the door.

"Spencer!"

He stopped and turned.

Rhodes came up to him and offered him a hand. Reid was forced to shake it.

"I'm sorry I was late for your lecture."

"At least you made it to some, unlike other weekends." He was sucking the butterscotch and mint hard candies he favoured. "Although Professor Smith tells me you manage to attend most of his classes." He frowned but the effect was ruined by the smile in his eyes. "Philosophy, Spencer? Really?"

Reid bounced on his heels. "Yeah. Sorry."

"You can make it up to me by letting me take you to dinner. I have commitments tonight but how does tomorrow sound?"

"Um…sure." The agreement was born more out his desperation to get out and go to the bathroom to wash his hands that any real desire to socialise.

"Good."

-o0o-

Morgan stared at his ceiling, followed the ugly swirls of plaster from one side of the room to the other. He could hear the ticking of the small brass clock the Chicago PD had given him when left to join the FBI. He hated the sound, harsh and grating, but he had never moved it out of his bedroom.

Because on nights like this, when all he could think of was Carl, he needed to be reminded of the things he done to win back his life and his self-respect after it was so brutally taken from him.

His cell phone buzzed on the bedside table. He smiled when he saw it was a text message from his sister mock scolding him for not calling, with a photo of his favourite cake that she threatened he would never taste again if he didn't visit soon. It was almost as if she had sensed over all those miles that he needed to feel connected to people who cared about him.

The warm glow lasted until he laid back, phone still in his fingers, and found the ceiling waiting for him.

He wasn't the only one who needed that connection right now.

He held the phone up, tapped through the menus to "_Reid"_ and let his finger rest on the call button.

Morgan sighed.

No.

He tossed the phone back onto the table and rolled onto his side, putting his back to it.

-o0o-

_Spencer was back in his hotel room in Coos Bay, watching himself pack. It was as if a spotlight lit only himself and the bed and everything else was cast into shadow._

_He watched his own body lay back against the bed with eyes seemingly closed. And then he could see, as he saw then, though the heavy fall of his dark lashes, a thin crack of light and the blurring of the walls and there…_

_A shadow, the vague shape of a man…_

Spencer opened his eyes and the images faded into nothing leaving only the racing of his heart.

.

-end of part one-

.

.

Note: The nPEP (ie non-occupational post exposure prophylaxis) including the drugs mentioned by Reid here is, to the best of my knowledge, accurate.

**Edited to add**: I should clarify that I learnt this as a pharmacy technician and not through personal experience!


	9. Human Nature: Part Two

.

**.**

**25 May 2007**

**BAU, Quantico, Virginia**

"Hey."

Spencer paused in his coffee making as JJ reached across him to grab a mug. He knew the 'are you OK' question was seconds away, having fielded it already from both Gideon and Hotch and decided to head it off.

"Did you want a cookie?" He asked, "Garcia made them." He picked up the plate of brightly iced, gummy shape decorated cookies that their tech had given him as a welcome back gift.

She took one. "Thanks."

He could still see the question in her eyes and said the first thing that came into his head. "Is there a case for us?"

"I have a meeting with a detective from Kansas City. He's concerned about some disappearances." She frowned. "Are you OK?"

Reid took a swallow of coffee so he didn't have to reply straight away. It burned all the way down.

But fortunately, he didn't need to compose a good reply. He saw her frown at the fingers holding his mug. "What happened to your hands?"

He adjusted the sleeves of his baggy chunky knit cardigan to better conceal the red irritated skin on his knuckles. "Um, I changed my detergent."

"Change back."

-o0o-

The detective that JJ spoke to did have a case for them and the team spent several days in Kansas City. Reid focused on the case and tried to ignore the unease he felt. That was easier to do just after scrubbing his hands and he could feel the sting left behind.

When the case was over, Gideon found out some old Chaplin movies and the team had watched them together. They laughed and threw popcorn and Reid… studied the images, sitting apart from the rest. It occurred to him later that Morgan never drew him out of his introspection as he would normally do.

A few days later, Reid was sitting at his desk, head bent, with the thick fall of his hair hanging down like a curtain. He was aware of Morgan approaching, knowing that he was going to ruffle his hair as he passed because he always did when it dangled down like this, and he braced for it.

Morgan passed him by.

-o0o-

**2nd June 2007**

Hotch looked up as Morgan entered his office. He looked tired and there was tension in the set of his shoulders as if he was expecting a fight.

He closed the door. "I assumed I'd be going with Gideon tomorrow."

"You're needed at the parole hearing." Hotch replied. "Baines is an obsessional stalker and that's your area of expertise."

"Fine. Then send Prentiss with Gideon."

Hotch sat back, aware that his shift in body language had told Morgan he now understood what wasn't being said aloud. That this wasn't about who should go with Gideon, it was about who _shouldn't_.

"Reid knows the case better than any of us." He pointed out.

"Kid knows everything better than all of us, but we manage just fine." Morgan snapped. "Send someone else."

"Gideon and I-"

"Hotch; Reid's just starting to get his head round what happened to him. He doesn't need to be put in a room with a preferential sex offender who will want to talk, in detail, about all the things he got off doing to young men Reid's age and physical type." Morgan tensed even more when Hotch stood up. "I know the arrangements were made before Coos Bay and that unsettling McNalis by having Reid there will get us the research we need faster than if he wasn't but he is not ready for this."

"Gideon spoke to him last night and was satisfied that Reid understood the implications and was prepared for them. Reid is an experienced agent and I respect his judgement. I suggest you do the same."

Morgan's frowned deepened. "With all due respect, sir, Reid _doesn't_ know what he's getting into. He won't until he's in that room."

Hotch watched the young agent and felt a wave of sympathy. Morgan probably saw that in his eyes too, because he looked away and backed up just a fraction defensively. "I know you have…an informed opinion here that the rest of us do not." He told him. "And I appreciate your concern. As will Reid. Have you spoken to him?"

"Not about McNalis. Or…" He trailed off.

"Perhaps you should." Hotch stepped back. "I'll pass your recommendation on to Gideon. We'll consider rescheduling the interview."

Morgan paused, clearly unsatisfied with that but maintaining his professionalism. After a moment, he nodded and went to leave.

His hand was on the handle when Hotch spoke again, words coming from his lips without his conscious thought.

"This may be overstepping the boundaries, but… my door is always open."

Morgan frowned but didn't reply. He closed the door behind him leaving Hotch in the silence of his office. His offer had been genuine but…

He didn't know what he do if Morgan ever took him up on that.

-o0o-

**Coos Bay, Oregon**

Detective Lyons looked over the abandoned station wagon. The glove compartment hung open and the contents were strewn out over the seat and foot well. The carpet was pulled up along all the seals and the fabric on the ceiling had been torn.

Someone had been searching for something.

Lyons could follow the searchers progress in his mind's eye, starting with the glove compartment, the front seats, the fabric above them… But the back seats… They appeared to be undisturbed. The search seemed incomplete.

Because the suspect found what he was looking for? Or had it been because the squad car had passed by?

The officers who stopped and ran the license plate had seen no-one, but then their interest in the abandon vehicle had been low until the check came back.

It was Milo Kullen's car.

Lyons frowned as he used the end of his pen to poke through the items littering the car.

Did they find whatever it was before they were disturbed?

He looked up at his partner. "Get the CSU in here."

-o0o-

**3rd June 2007**

**BAU, Quantico, Virginia**

Reid carefully put all the relevant files into his satchel and settled the heavy pack on his shoulder. He turned to see Morgan, dressed in crisp shirt with dark tie, walking towards his own desk then stop when he saw what Reid was doing.

"You're still going to interview McNalis?" He asked.

"Yeah…?" He could see anger in Morgan's eyes and frowned. "Aren't you meant to be at the hearing?"

Morgan grabbed a file from his desk, glanced at his watch and cursed softly. "Reid…" He hovered for a moment, clearly running late yet reluctant to leave. It was obvious he had something to say.

Spencer waited.

Gideon's voice called out across the room. "Reid!"

"I have to go." He told him.

"Reid, wait!"

He stopped.

Morgan looked around and closed the gap between them, head slightly to the side as he met Reid's eyes. "I know…" He closed his eyes and muttered "dammit" under his breath.

"REID!"

Reid glanced over at Gideon, waiting impatiently at the door, then back at Morgan. "I really do have to go."

He took several steps before Morgan spoke again, "kid?" He turned. "Call me if you need too, OK?"

Reid swallowed the suddenly lump in his throat. "I'm fine."

-o0o-

**United States Penitentiary, Hazelton, Virginia**

It had been a long drive. Gideon at the wheel and Reid in the passenger seat with a lap full of files and photos gathered during the 3 years that McNalis had preyed on young men. Almost all of the conversation had been case related, reviewing both McNalis's profile and his crimes. The only time Reid left the subject was to ask, "does Morgan seem OK to you?"

Gideon had kept his reply vague. "We could all use a vacation."

They had stopped once for gas and while Reid used the rest room, Gideon had bought them both a burger, fries and a coke. He had eaten his but was painfully aware that Reid had done little more than tear pieces off his burger as if to eat them but actually hadn't swallowed anything other than his coke.

At the prison, they passed slowly through security, checking in their guns before being led through the rows of secure doors. After a brief conversation with the governor, a guard led them to the interview room with its small single barred window, large florescent light and containing only a table with 3 chairs.

Gideon watched Reid begin laying out the crime photos. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Reid looked up and nodded, but his young face was far too expressive and he lacked the guile to hide the truth and Gideon's stomach twisted as he questioned his decision to bring Reid.

Simon McNalis was brought in a few minutes later. He was a heavy set man with a large nose and thick lips and he eyed Gideon with a look of loathing before turning his gaze on Reid with a slight predatory smile.

"Jason Gideon…" He drawled in a thick southern accent, eyes never leaving Reid. "You're not as tall as I remember."

"Shall I leave him cuffed, sir?" The prison guard asked.

"No that's all right."

The guard released McNalis then retreated.

McNalis walked a circuit of the small room before sitting down at the table and gazed up at Reid. "And you done brought me a present."

"This is Dr Reid." Gideon said, taking the seat facing McNalis.

"Do you have a first name?" He smiled and carefully enunciated, "Doctor."

"Yes." Reid said and took the seat next to Gideon.

"If you won't tell me, I shall just call you Charlie." He sat forward. "Would you like that?"

Gideon put his arms on the table, leaning into McNalis' line of sight to bodily block Reid from his view. "You grew up in Alabama…" he began.

-o0o-

Morgan studied the judge. He was a stout man, with thick eyebrows that framed small dark eyes. There was no kindness in his face but he didn't appear to be as harsh as others of his breed.

No matter how many years passed, no matter how many trials he was part of or how many hearings he saw, when he was in a courtroom, Morgan always thought of The Judge: the one that Carl had convinced to seal his criminal record.

His payment.

For services rendered.

They would never stop reminding him of the terrible price he had paid in order to become the man he was today. In many ways, like scar tissue hardens to protect a deep wound, his heart had learned to how to stay strong here, by clinging to the knowledge that he now had the power to stop it happening to anyone else.

Morgan drew a deep breath and bowed his head.

But even that comfort was gone.

_Reid…_

-o0o-

McNalis had no shame in what he had done and his enjoyment of the photos recording the terrible injuries he had inflicted on his young victims was obvious. He stared at the images of painfully thin men – boys – who he had raped and beaten with hungry eyes and spoke of his crimes in a low, almost husky voice. His arousal was sickening.

Reid was aware of McNalis' gaze as a physical sensation, like ants crawling over his skin, and tried to fight down the paranoia that was telling him that McNalis could tell what had happened to him just by looking. He had prepared himself for talking about the assaults, braced himself for the pictures, and distanced himself from the emotions by hiding, as he always did, in the comfort of expert knowledge and learning, but he hadn't expected to feel so transparent.

And while he had known, intellectually, that he would feel shame he had not expected it to press down on him as Gideon listed the victim's injuries, which were so much worse than his own. They had a right to their feelings. He could not help feeling that he did not.

Reid had been largely unharmed.

Lucky.

"I need to use the bathroom." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

McNalis laughed. "I can come hold it for you, Charlie." He sneered. "Make sure you don't miss."

Gideon followed him to the door, watching him carefully.

"I'm sorry." He admitted softly, knowing that Gideon had put his faith in him and he was letting him down.

But, as always, there was no reproach in Gideon's eyes, only fondness and understanding. "Take as much time as you need."

-o0o-

**Coos Bay Police Department, Oregon**

The cell phone lay on the desk in a clear plastic evidence bag. It had been found pushed inside the worn spare tire in the trunk of Milo Kullen's car. Chief Quinn picked it up.

"Pictures?" He repeated.

Lyons nodded. "There's a film clip too." He told him. "10 seconds."

"You're sure it's Spencer Reid?"

Lyons drew a breath. "Yes sir."

.

-end of part two—

.

.

.


	10. Human Nature: Part Three

_._

_A/N: I'd just like to say thanks to everyone whose left comments. I hit a real low doing the last couple of chapters – they were intended to be just one but grew longer than that – and resented every second I spent writing. It was only the desire not to let those people down that kept me going._

_._

**United States Penitentiary, Virginia**

"They liked that," McNalis smiled, "all my Charlie's liked it." His eyes flickered to Reid. "How many men have you had, Charlie?"

Reid had given up correcting him.

Gideon hadn't. "It's Dr Reid." He said. "Your brother didn't enjoy it, though, did he?"

McNalis ignored him. "I can see the answer in your eyes."

"Charles Raymond McNalis." Gideon words were tight with anger. "Your brother."

"And look at your daddy… he's so disappointed in you." McNalis snapped forward suddenly, crowding into Reid's space. "Maybe he wanted to get in there first!"

Reid pulled back and couldn't stop the look of fear he shot Gideon even though he knew there was no truth in McNalis' words and immediately felt a rush of guilt through him at the understanding he saw on his mentor's face.

"That was what it was about, wasn't it? Making all those men into your brother because he's the one you wanted." Gideon said calmly and his voice grounded Reid. "The one you couldn't have."

"Transference," Reid supplied. "It's called transference: the sublimation of one desire by acting on another."

"Look at you." McNalis snarled, locking eyes with Reid. "Pretending to be like him when all you really are is a scared little boy. I could strip all that away."

"Actually if anyone is pretending here, it's you. That's something you did with all of your victims." Reid straightened in his chair. "You pretended they were your brother."

"The brother who rejected your advances." Gideon said. "He laughed at you, didn't he, Simon? Did he call you dirty?"

McNalis looked at Gideon and Reid could see a spark of anger in his face. So he pushed. "And a few hours later you took your first victim."

"Luke Mason." Gideon supplied.

"But the reality… it couldn't live up to your expectations." Reid stared at the man, his words speeding up as he spoke. "I mean, how could it? Luke wasn't your brother and there were so many differences. His height, his eye colour, the sound of his voice... So you tried again, 2 weeks later, with Mark Short. But he didn't fit with your fantasy either so you had keep recreating the domination of your brother over and over with more victims until you couldn't even do that anymore."

Gideon sat forward. "We know why you didn't rape Matthew Tucker. You couldn't."

"So you stabbed him repeatedly instead."

"Did he laugh at you too, Simon?" Gideon pressed. "Did he laugh like Charlie did when you couldn't get it up?"

With a roar, McNalis threw himself over the table at Gideon, knocking him from his chair. They crashed into Reid at the same moment he hit the panic button and the alarms went off.

Reid heard the door clanking as the guards hurried to unlock it, but he knew it would take at least 3 seconds to enter and restrain McNalis – an eternity in which anything could happen. McNalis grabbed at Reid's ankle and it was as if he could see Tobias Hankel, his UnSub, every bully he'd had in school in his ugly face and before he even registered his own reaction he had kicked out. He heard a satisfying crack under his heel as the man's nose relocated.

Then the guards were pulling McNalis away, blood pouring down his face, and bundling him out the door. "Be thinking of you tonight, Charlie." He spat out.

Gideon got up and laid an arm around him.

-o0o-

Gideon drove through the night. Reid lay curled up in the passenger seat in a way a bulkier man could never do and his chest rose and fell in the even pattern of genuine sleep.

"_Were you testing me?"_ Reid had asked when they had first got in the car to begin the journey back. He looked pale and the shadows around his eyes were even more pronounced than usual and even though it pained Gideon to see it, he was relieved to see it. Pain was the first step towards healing.

Gideon had avoided the question. "_Are you profiling me now?"_

Reid had waited.

Eventually Gideon smiled and admitted_. "You're a good profiler."_

He was silent for a long moment. "_I had a good teacher."_

After that he had balled up his thick cardigan into a pillow and gone to sleep.

He never asked if he had passed.

Gideon's phone began to vibrate on the dashboard. He picked it up and checked the caller ID before hitting the answer button.

The words _Detective Lyons_ glowed in the low light.

"Gideon." He said as he steered the car into the side of the road and gently pressed on the brakes.

"It's Mike Lyons." The detective said. "You asked me to call you if we turned up anything."

He looked over at Reid, who stirred slightly as his body registered the lack of motion. "Give me a minute." He opened the door and quietly left the car. When he was several paces away he said, "OK."

"Quinn will make an official report in the morning but I wanted to give you a heads up." His voice sounded grave. "For the kid's sake."

"I'm listening."

"We found Milo Kullen's car. And his phone." There was an audible intake of breath. "There's pictures on it."

Gideon felt his heart lurch in his chest. "Of Reid?"

"Yes."

Gideon closed his eyes. He was silent for a long time before he remembered to say, "thank you," before hanging up.

He returned to the car and got in. Reid sat up, hair mussed from sleep like a child's with the pattern of his cable knit cardigan embossed on his cheek. Gideon felt a wave of affection for him.

"Was that Hotch?"

To be or not to be…?

"No." He offered him a smile. "It's at least 30 miles to the next facilities."

Reid looked blank, then "oh! You were-"

At any other time, his embarrassment would have been charming.

Gideon started the car and lapsed into silence.

-o0o-

**4th June 2007**

**BAU, Quantico, Virginia**

Hotch walked through the bullpen. The lights were still down and all the desks were empty and would remain so for at least 2 hours. It was early enough to still be dark outside, even this close to the equinox.

He heard footsteps behind him and turned to see their technical analyst, hair still tied up in rags and her face devoid of make-up, enter the bullpen area, carrying her coat and bag.

"Coffee." Garcia muttered as she walked along, "I need coffee."

"We don't have time." Gideon said as he came down the steps from his office.

"Do you know how many hours sleep the average woman needs? Six to eight hours." Garcia snapped. "I've had three. You think it's easy being perky and brilliant and Penelope all the time? It's not. It takes effort. And sleep. And coffee."

"In a few hours, the Coos Bay PD will be sending us new evidence about Reid's kidnapping." Gideon explained. "But I- we need to see it now. Before Reid does."

Hotch frowned. The phone call he had received from Gideon an hour ago suddenly made sense.

Garcia looked shocked. "You want me to hack into the police department's computer?"

The show of tech morals was out of place. "You've done it before."

"At three thirty in the morning? Without coffee?" She held up a hand to stop their protest. "All right. Black. No sugar." She ordered and began towards her office while grumbling under her breath.

Hotch studied Gideon. He didn't look like he had slept and given the time, he probably hadn't long returned from the prison. "Bad?"

"I hope not."

-o0o-

There were 12 pictures. Most were of Reid's hand being manipulated but 2 were…

Very explicit.

In one the UnSub captured the moment he made the stains that forensics found on his collar. The second showed Reid was being abused, his face twisted into a mask of horror.

Garcia stood up, turned her back to the computer and tried to stop shaking. She listened to Hotch and Gideon's words, tight and betraying the disgust they felt, but still remaining professional. They were still thinking like profilers.

How could they?

How could they look at those images of their friend and not want to scream at the unfairness of it?

"Assuming its Kullen taking the pictures…" Hotch said, studying the image of Reid struggling against what was done to him.

"There's a second UnSub." Gideon concluded.

-o0o-

Morgan walked into the round table room. Hotch had called him in an hour earlier than normal for a meeting. He had not said what it would be about. He saw Garcia sitting on one of the chairs, her head bent low and she appeared to be trembling.

He stopped, frowned. "Baby Girl?"

She looked up and he saw that her eyes were red and puffy and wet streaks of tears glistened on her cheeks. He was by her side in an instant, pulling her into his arms but the act of comfort only produced a fresh wave of tears and she buried her face in the curve of his neck.

"What is it?"

"Hey, what's with the early meet-" Emily began as she walked into the room, and then stopped when she saw them, "Garcia?"

"C'mon, you're scaring me here, Baby Girl." Morgan told her.

Hotch came in, with JJ at his side and closed the door behind them. His face was like granite.

"Aren't we waiting for Gideon and Reid?" JJ asked.

"No."

Morgan's anxiety heightened. "Did something happen at the Penitentiary?" He asked, the only explanation for their absence and he didn't want to think of significance of Garcia's grief.

"There's no easy way to do this." Hotch said as he picked up the remote control to their screen. "We have some new evidence about Reid's kidnapping." He pressed a button and the TV behind him flashed up the images of Reid.

JJ gave a cry and covered her mouth.

"Oh God, is that…" Emily gasped.

Morgan's fist came down on the table, making everyone jump.

-o0o-

Reid hurried up the Metro steps, dodging around the crowds pouring in the opposite direction. He ground to a halt when he saw Gideon waiting at the top. His face was grave, eyes tired and full of regret.

He rested a hand on Reid's elbow.

"Spencer," he said and the use of his first name was both a soothing balm and a jangle against his nerves and he became acutely aware of the noise and bustle that continued around him. "We need to talk."

-o0o-

Some hours later, the team sat in the round table room and in all the weeks since he'd left detox, Reid had never wanted the haze of Dilaudid more. It would be so easy to say he wanted to go home, so easy to go to his bedside table and pull out the rolled up sock at the back that contained a vial of the drug and a packed, sterile needle, so easy to push the hypodermic into a vein and disappear for a while.

He remembered how that felt, that first time. Not the first time Hankel had dosed him, but the first time he – Spencer Reid, 25 year old genius from Las Vegas – had consciously made the decision to do it. He had felt so in control. It was better than knowing every last fact on a subject, better than being the smartest kid in the room, better even than skipping meals because he could and other people couldn't.

He knew now, of course, that he was far from being in control. Was, in fact, _being_ controlled by the physical and psychological craving his enforced addiction had left him with.

But the echo of that moment remained and it always would. Sometimes it was soft and easily ignored, and others, like now, it was as if that ghost were screaming at him.

"So Kullen what, drugs Reid in the hotel room?" Morgan asked.

"I think I remember laying down." Reid said, frowning. He could do this. "Maybe I fell asleep."

"He uses the laundry basket to get Reid out hotel. Where does he go?" Gideon said.

"The Coos Bay PD found no evidence of Reid's presence at his house." Hotch added.

"He knew he had time before Reid was missed, so he could have travelled outside the Bay Area." Prentiss put in.

"He was probably held in a basement." Garcia said. "There was only one photograph with any kind of background view. This was the best I could do." She laid out a blown up and enhanced image of bricks and timber beams.

"Once there and under the influence of both Rohypnol and Viagra, Reid was sexually assaulted by Milo Kullen and, we suspect, a second UnSub." Hotch said.

Reid dug his nails into his palm. This was just another case…

"We believe him to be a white male, highly intelligent and given his level of organisation is probably mid-twenties to late thirties."

"There was one detail." Garcia said and pointed to the corner of one of the photographs. Then she laid out a new picture of that corner blown up. It showed the blurred image of a gold disk. "Well two actually. The first of which is: from the angle, it appears to be a necklace. And second, Milo would have been over here taking the shot-" she wiggled her fingers off the side of the photo, "-so it can't be his."

"The second UnSub." JJ said.

"Can you improve the image?" Gideon asked, looking through his specs at the picture. He could see some wavy lines on the surface of the gold but it was too blurry.

"That's the best I can do."

Prentiss leaned forward. "That's not writing."

"A Celtic design maybe." Morgan suggested.

"As clues to an UnSub's identity goes, it's pretty vague." Reid said and got to his feet. "I've got to get some air."

-o0o-

An hour later, Spencer was half way through making himself a third cup of sweet, black coffee when he saw Hotch approach. He had seen the meeting break about 20 minutes before and had been expecting – dreading – one of the team to check on him for some time. He didn't want to look them eye knowing they seen those pictures.

"I'm sorry you had to be part of that." Hotch said.

"I'm your only witness." He stirred his coffee slowly, watched the spoon make a whirlpool in the dark liquid. "I agreed. And statistically-"

"Reid."

There was an increase in the activity around them, the beginning buzz of an emergency, his mind following the sounds rather than look at Hotch.

"I know this is difficult for you."

"No you don't."

"You're right. I don't know what you're going through." Hotch admitted. "You could go home, if you need to. But if you're able, there's a hostage situation in DC and we could use your help."

.

-end of part three-

.

.

.


	11. Human Nature: Part Four

-o0o-

As the numbers on Emily's alarm clock changed from 05:29 to read 05:30, triggering the alarm and causing her to groan, Finn Jensen pushed a hypodermic loaded with heroin into his vein and the world briefly, all too briefly, existed only as joy.

An hour later, at 6.30 that morning, just as Morgan left his house to drive into work for the early meeting, tired from a sleepless night tossing and turning in sweaty sheets, Finn Jensen was loading his gun.

At 7.30am, while JJ hid in the bathroom just off the bullpen and washed the tears from her face, Finn was driving into Washington DC, his fully loaded, semi-automatic lying in the foot well of the passenger seat.

At 8.30am, as Gideon sat with Reid on a bench outside the Metro station and spoke, as gently as he could, words that felt like acid on his lips, Finn walked into the shopping precinct, eyes flicking over the people around him, looking for Them.

At 9.30am, as the team watched Reid walk quietly into the round table room and take his seat, his face almost completely devoid of colour and expression, Finn drew out his gun.

Ten minutes and thirty six seconds later, as Morgan blinked away the image of Carl's hand that his mind insisted on overlaying on the photos of Reid, Finn opened fire.

At three minutes past ten, while the team watched Reid's abrupt exit, hardware store owner Peter Philips began pleading for his life.

At 10:12, as Reid stood in the bathroom and scrubbed furiously at his hands, a shot rang out.

-o0o-

The SUV stopped in front of the police tapes and the team got out. The area, usually filled with the bustle of shoppers, was a hive of activity of a different kind, with police and SWAT vans and personnel as well as a number of news teams, crowding into the limited space.

Hotch watched Reid close the tabs of his Kevlar vest, his chest so narrow that the Velcro reached right round him to meet at the front and felt Morgan's presence just behind him.

"You should send him home, Hotch."

He turned. "No."

"The kid's been through more than enough today."

"Agreed. But I don't think he should be alone right now."

Together, the team ducked under the tapes and were immediately met by the SWAT leader, who introduced himself as David Crane and a police chief, Mason Feldman. Hotch quickly gave them everyone's names.

"The shooter killed 7 people and injured another 12 before he holed up in the hardware store. We've sealed off the phone line and we have a feed from the surveillance camera just outside the store. The angle's not the best and there's no audio but at least we have some visuals."

"Has anyone tried contacting him?" Hotch asked.

"We were waiting for you, just like your liaison recommended." Feldman replied, his voice betraying a note of annoyance that he couldn't quite hide.

"It's important to maintain a line of communication with only one person." Hotch explained.

Crane led them to a large secure van which was lined with the latest technology. One of the techs shuffled around to let the team crowd around the monitors while another drew their attention to one of the screens. It showed them the recorded footage of a young man, of around 20, walking through the mall in a long coat. The time stamp was about 2 hours before. None of the angles were that good and the image was grainy, but they had at least managed to get some decent shots of his face.

Gideon leaned forward. "He's waiting," he remarked. "Why?"

Crane frowned. "Is that important?"

"Shooters of this kind usually begin straight away." Hotch answered. "It ensures them the element of surprise and maximises casualties, which is their first priority."

"First? Do they have a second?" Feldman spat.

"In most cases: suicide by cop." Gideon answered.

"He's looking for someone." Morgan pointed at the screen. "A male. He's ignoring the women."

They watched as finally the shooter took out his semi-automatic and began firing into the crowds. The shoppers panicked and ran and he quickly picked them off. But all the time, he kept walking forwards.

"He's heading straight for the hardware store." Emily said.

The view then changed to a camera outside the store. On the last third of the picture was the shop window and through it, the shooter calmly gunned down a woman at the counter. Her body fell across her screaming child, knocking the little girl backwards. The man behind the counter could be seen pleading, gesturing at the till as if he was offering him money.

"The store owner's name is listed as Peter Philips." Crane told them, "but we haven't been able to confirm if that's him."

The shooter took careful aim at the man's hand and opened fire. A hail of bullets tore at the man's right hand and he screamed.

"He's torturing him."

The shooter then moved around the counter and aimed at the man's leg. More pleas went unanswered and he crumpled down as he was shot again. Then the gun aimed at his groin and the man shook his head and begged and finally fumbled in his pocket. He handed over a small object which the shooter poked at before holding to his ear. Then he shot the man in the chest.

"Do you know who he was calling?"

"Service said it was to an unregistered cell." Feldman replied.

Morgan took out his phone, "Baby Girl, you're on speaker. Are you getting these pictures?"

"I most certainly am, my prince, and the answer to your next question is: Finn Jensen, 21 year college student from Wisconsin who, oh…" Her voice trailed off.

"What?"

"Nine months ago he reported a rape but when the case went to trial…" She said. "The defence tore his statement to shreds in the witness stand. The jury took less than an hour to return a verdict of not guilty."

"Who was the defendant?" Hotch asked.

"James Philips." She said. "He's the son of the store owner."

"That's who he was looking for." Emily said.

"Morgan, you and Reid stay here, find the names of everyone in that store and begin a profile on the shooter." Hotch said, "we'll try to talk to him."

-o0o-

Finn Jensen jumped when the phone on the counter began to ring. He tightened his grip on his gun and cast a hard look at Peter Philips, who lay bleeding on the ground a few metres away.

Philips coughed and a fat line of blood spilled out of the corner of his mouth. "S' for you." He managed.

Finn pointed the gun at him and the child screamed.

"SHUT UP!" He screamed at her and the kid's breath hitched in her chest, her eyes wide open, the sound stalling.

But the phone continued to ring; such a familiar noise, innocuous even, and yet drilling into his thoughts like a pneumatic machine on the roadside.

_Brring, Brring…_

On and on the sound went.

_Brring, Brring…_

Until finally Finn snatched up the receiver just so he wouldn't have to hear it anymore.

The voice on the other end spoke. "My name is Jason Gideon. I'm with the FBI." He said. "And you are Finn Jensen?"

His own name took him by surprise and Finn looked around in alarm as if something there could explain why his identity was so obvious.

"We know who you are and we know what James Philips did."

Finn's head snapped around in panic, sure now that something or someone was giving him away and with a cry of rage he pulled the phone from the wall and threw it onto the shop floor.

-o0o-

Garcia soon found the names of the victims. The dead woman had been Susan Leigh and the child was her 7 year old daughter Alexa. She also confirmed that the man was Peter Phillips, owner of the store and father of James.

She sent them copies of the court transcripts from the Philips trial. Spencer found he had to read them through 3 times before the information was properly compartmentalised from his own experiences but eventually he came to understand just how badly the courts failed this young man.

He and Morgan took what they'd learned to the others and when they had a working profile, the agents briefed the team leads.

"He's a type of shooter known as an injustice collector." Reid told the gathered officers.

"He feels betrayed," Morgan continued. "Not just by his rapist, but by the justice system that he feels has let him down."

"He came here for 2 reasons." Gideon said. "To punish those he feels are responsible and to commit suicide."

"And it's only a matter of time before he does that." Hotch added. "Saving Alexa Leigh has to be our priority."

"My team are ready to go in." Crane said.

"No. We need to get Alexa out first."

"Well the kid's killed the phone." Feldman snorted, uncaring of his poor choice of words.

Gideon nodded. "We need to send someone in there."

-o0o-

Gideon walked through the police lines with Morgan on his right side and Reid at his left. "No."

"I can get through to him." Reid pointed out as he hurried to keep pace. Gideon increased his speed. He had no intentions of slowing down, of allowing Reid to face him and from there, to convince him.

"It's not open for discussion, Reid." Hotch said from behind them.

"They dehumanise their victims, and we humanise the killers. You taught me that." Reid pointed out.

He stopped abruptly and turned, angry. "Do not use my own words against me."

"Empathy is best weapon we have and right now I'm the only person who can empathise with him. You know that." Then he drove home the point, because now he was looking at Gideon, the one thing Jason hadn't wanted him to do. "Gideon, if I can use…" his voice broke, just a little, "… maybe I can save both Alexa _and_ Finn and at least something good will have come out of it!"

Gideon looked over at the store.

Hotch paused and gave a single, decisive nod of his head. "Morgan will go you." He said.

-o0o-

Finn Jensen watched the SWAT teams outside through the narrow crack between the counter and the till machine, a postage slot view that allowed him to see anyone approach without being seen.

Philips had lapsed into unconsciousness, or was dead. The child still clung to her mother's body but at least she'd stopped crying.

He saw movement beyond the police tapes, the familiar and hateful shape of the man who had destroyed his life, and felt his lips curl up into a rictus smile.

At last.

But the brief glimpse of James disappeared as he was bundled away by police officers.

The smile fell away in a flash of bright hot anger. He reached around the counter and snagged the little girl's wrist, pulling her to him as he stood up. She let out a wail as he lifted her off her feet, arm tight around her skinny waist, and held her over his chest. He began walking towards the door.

The people outside reacted to his movements by ducking low behind their vehicles. He paid them little attention as he scanned the crowds for James' face.

At the door, he told the girl to open it before moving out onto the street.

Now he could see the crowds better. But there was still no sign of James.

Two heavily shielded SWAT personnel, and 2 FBI agents according to the lettering on their vests, broke from cover and stood in his line of sight. All four were aiming weapons at him. Finn dug his gun harder into the child's blonde head, making her cry out in pain and fear, as he stepped forward.

The white FBI agent took an extra step forward and spoke. "My name is Spencer Reid." He said and put away his gun before holding up his hands. "I'm with the FBI. I know what James Philips did to you. And I also know that he got away with it."

"Where is he?" Finn demanded. "I saw him!"

"It's unfair that he wasn't punished. I'm sorry the justice system let you down."

"They didn't believe me!"

"They should have."

"I'm not a liar." He felt tears spill down his cheeks.

-o0o-

Spencer took another step forward, hearing Morgan's soft "_Reid_" warning in his ear. "I know you're not. Every word you said on the witness stand was the truth, but the lawyers… They took what you said and they twisted it and used it against you."

He nodded slightly and the hand that held the gun trembled. Alexa made a soft whine. "Yeah…"

Finn looked very young and despite the terror in the girl's eyes and the sight of her mother's blood staining her dress, Reid wasn't angry at him. He understood, more than he ever wanted to, how the boy felt.

"My dad said…. I deserved it… that I'm weak."

"You didn't deserve it, Finn. No one does."

"He called me a filthy queer…"

"He'll know now, all right? He'll see what you've done, he'll see that you are strong enough to fight and he'll know it wasn't your fault." He held out his hands. "Give me the gun and I promise you we'll both walk out of here and everyone, including your father, will know you were telling the truth."

His grip tightened on the child. "Doesn't matter… won't change it…"

Alexa let out a small cry of pain as she was squeezed and Reid felt his heart lurch at Finn's words.

"It won't ever go away."

"Finn, I know you feel like…you won't ever get past what happened to you. Believe me when I tell you," he met his eyes, "I know what that feels like."

"We both do."

The words came from behind him and Reid looked around at Morgan, surprised by his soft words, by the admittance. There was something in Morgan's eyes that drew him out of the moment.

That tiny, split second, distraction was all it took.

The gun left Alexa's head, came up.

"No!" Morgan's cry seemed to elongate as if time slowed down.

Then the crack of gun fire split the air.

.

-end of part four-

.

.


	12. Human Nature: Part Five

.

Gideon watched from behind the line of SWAT officers, his eyes fixed on the thin, pale figure of Reid. He saw the desperation in the young man's face as he tried to get through to Finn. In the back of his mind was one sentence that ran like a litany, over and over. _It was the right choice…the best choice… _but did he believe it…?

He flinched the moment Reid looked away, breaking whatever trust his words had created and giving the UnSub a precious moment with the 'clarity' of his own thoughts, his own twisted logic.

And in that second, the importance of his mission reasserted itself on Finn and the gun left the child's head and moved up.

He heard Morgan cry a warning and saw him start forward.

The SWAT officer to Reid's left opened fire and Finn's body jerked as a small red circle appeared on his forehead.

Morgan crashed into Reid, throwing them both to the ground at the same moment that Finn fell backwards. Alexa was dragged to her knees by Finn's weight and as the SWAT officer approached to ensure he was dead, she scuttled back on all fours away from him.

Morgan hurried over and scooped her up, hugging her to his chest.

Behind him, Reid moved to lean over Finn.

-o0o-

Reid stood by the coroner's wagon and watched as Finn Jensen's body was loaded on. Around him, he could hear the sobs of the stricken families awaiting news of their loved ones. And in the corner of his eye he could see James Philips – unharmed, unpunished - pressing against the police tapes for a better view.

Some days he had to wonder: why did he do this job?

Gideon came to stand at his side and squeezed his shoulder.

He looked around at his mentor. "I'm sorry."

"You did everything you could do." He said simply. "I'm proud of you."

And those words…

They were probably his answer.

-o0o-

**BAU, Quantico, Virginia**

Reid sat at his desk, aware of Emily sitting at hers just a few feet away. Since the team had returned from the mall, there had always been someone hovering at his side as if they were afraid to leave him alone. JJ had already organised a meal for tonight and he suspected that a night on her sofa awaited him. He appreciated the concern and was grateful at the attempt to show him that seeing those pictures of him had not altered their opinion of him, but he felt vulnerable enough right now and their actions only made him feel it more keenly.

And he had only one distraction…

Reid was making a show of writing his report but in a second window, kept small and mostly closed, he was researching. People might mistake him for being a little technophobic, because he preferred books to e-readers, files to computers and because his brain often worked quicker and easier than a computer programme, but that didn't mean it couldn't hack with the best of them.

By the end of the day, there would be no aspect of Milo Kullen's life that he did not know.

-o0o-

**Bar Rumbles, Washington DC**

The team had eaten a meal together in a restaurant before coming to the bar. The Rumbles was crowded and noisy and would not have been the team's first choice – or second, or even tenth – but it had the virtue of being a significant distance from Quantico and right now that was the most important thing.

Reid stared at the beer that Morgan had placed in front of him despite having requested an orange juice. He put his hand around the glass and felt the cold leach into his fingers.

In front of him, a couple kissed and touched and something about the sight made Reid shudder and want to lift the beer to his lips. He gulped the foul liquid down, distracting himself from the discomfort in his stomach as it protested the abuse by watching Garcia, JJ and Emily. They stood around a high table with a row of tequila shots, a dish of lime slices and a salt seller, laughing as they knocked them back. But there was something false about their actions.

They were going through the motions of chasing away the horrors they had seen that day because this time, those horrific images had hit close to home. Reid could tell by the tense, almost forced brightness to their smiles and by the hollow sound of their laughter that they were pretending.

Pretending to have fun, for their own sakes…

And pretending to be normal for Reid's…

It didn't take a brilliant profiler to see it.

But for the brilliant profiler that it was played out for, the pretence meant everything in the world.

-o0o-

Hotch sat with Gideon at the back of the bar, in the quieter area where the music was simply very loud rather than ear splitting. Their presence had been expected by the team in this show of unity and neither had refused, but as he sat there, Hotch had a vague sense of déjà vu. After a few minutes, he realised what it reminded him of: sitting with Jack in the park while the toddler played in the sandpit.

Gideon was watching Emily beckon Reid over by waving a tequila shot in the air. Predictably the young man shook his head. He seemed a lot better after the meal – no tearing food to pieces or pantomiming with chopsticks this time – he had quietly eaten the pasta he'd ordered. Some colour had returned to his cheeks and the air of fragility that had clung to him since the Metro station had lifted.

"He's stronger than we give him credit for." Hotch said.

Gideon nodded his agreement but didn't reply.

Hotch sat forward, "Jason, I know you think I was wrong to let Reid out there today." He said. "But I believed it to be the best chance we had of reaching Finn Jensen."

"They'll be repercussions." Gideon warned.

"I know." Hotch replied. "But I stand by my decision."

-o0o-

The couple in Reid's line of sight had moved on to caressing each other's faces. It made him feel vaguely sick to see their hands touching. It made him consciously aware of his own hands. Drinking and listening to his own voice talk about _Dr Who_ to a bored Morgan was no longer distracting him. He couldn't force another pint down when his stomach was stretched to bursting already and Morgan had a look in his eyes like thunder clouds before a rainstorm.

He got up and wobbled.

"Whoa!" Morgan reached out and steadied him. "How much have you had, Reid?"

"Um, the American wet pint is 0.473176473 of a litre. If you take into account spillage and residue millilitres in the bottom of the glass, a deduction of approximately 2.5ml per pint then 1.8727058 litres." He paused as something occurred to him. "I think I might be drunk."

"Yeah, no kidding, Einstein." Morgan said, "I don't need a calculation to see that."

The couple progressed to deep and sloppy kissing and Reid's stomach roiled. Morgan frowned, clearly reading his queasiness in his face. Maybe he'd really turned green. The thought made him giggle and Morgan's frown deepened into concern.

"I've never seen you drink like this."

"I did ask for orange juice." He took a step forward and wobbled. His stomach lurched.

"Lemme take you-" Morgan reached for his hands – _his_ hands – and Reid batted him away.

"I can go by myself!" He snapped and stumbled in the direction of the toilet.

He almost fell through the door and managed to aim most of his vomit in the closest toilet. When he finally finished retching, he got up and went to the sinks and rinsed his mouth. Then he all but emptied the soap dispenser and began the now familiar act of scrubbing.

The door opened behind him.

"Oh!"

The high pitched voice made him look up. Garcia stood in the doorway, eyes wide in surprise. She looked up at the sign on the door just to check. Then she broke into a smile.

Reid looked at walls and saw the lack of urinals. That explained why Morgan hadn't followed him. He was probably wondering where he'd gone.

Garcia smiled broadly as she came over. "Oh my God!" She cried, looking intently at his face. "Did Morgan get you drunk?" She fussed with his hair. "This is not taking care of you. I told him…" She trailed off as she saw what he was doing and a second later he saw understanding dawn in her eyes. It was quickly followed by the softness of sympathy. She pulled down a hand towel and went to dry Reid's hands.

"Don't." He pulled away from her.

Her face softened. "Hey." She murmured. "It's OK."

She gently dabbed at his fingers, mindful of the sore and cracked skin, her movements becoming more confident as she went on. When she had finished, she shepherded him out of the toilet and told Hotch to take him home, but not before rounding on Morgan and snapping, "I am so mad at you right now!"

-o0o-

Hotch, the only one of them who had not been drinking, drove them all home in the SUV. JJ had laid claim to Reid who was drowsing in his seat and led him into her house. She laid out pillows and a duvet out on the sofa but he had already fallen asleep in a chair by the time she had finished. She smiled and hugged him goodnight.

JJ awoke in the night and went to check on Reid. He was awake and reading a book. From the cover it looked like the one she bought some weeks ago on the recommendation of a friend.

"I never got round to reading that." She said.

Her voice startled him and he looked up. It was then she saw the tears on his face and she immediately went to his side and drew him into a hug.

-o0o-

**11th June 2007**

Hotch saw Reid leave Strauss' office. The young man stopped, looked down, avoiding his eyes. Hotch offered him a nod to show he understood, but doubted that Reid saw it or would believe it, if he did.

He knocked and entered.

Strauss sat behind her desk, her hard eyes never leaving Hotch's face as he approached her.

She sat forward and began without pleasantries. "You allowed Dr Reid's participation in the operation."

"He's part of the team and his input is invaluable." Hotch replied. "I spoke to him and was satisfied that he was fit for duty."

"This was only hours after seeing explicit pictures of his recent assault." She stated. "You should have sent him home. Was there any reason why you didn't?"

The simple truth had been that Hotch was afraid he would have taken drugs again. But Strauss could never know that so he said instead. "Reid has no family in the area. In fact I'd go so far as to say the team is the only family he has. He needed us around him."

"This is the FBI, not a kindergarten." She snapped. "Do you realise he's been researching Milo Kullen?"

That came as a surprise. "No." He was forced to admit.

"I thought I made myself clear: Dr Reid's abduction and assault are matters for the Coos Bay PD. Any input from him or the team will be given as and when it is requested."

"Chief Quinn asked for our professional opinion of the photographs. We gave it." He replied. "I'll make sure Dr Reid is aware of the boundaries of that."

"You should also impress that upon the other members of your increasingly fractured team." She paused. "Given the recent problems with Agent Greenaway and Morgan's arrest in Chicago, I want immediate evaluations of your staff."

"They're not due for-"

"No, they are due the day after tomorrow, Agent Hotchner, and I will expect them on my desk before 2'o'clock."

"Ma'am."

"Good. Dismissed."

He clenched his jaw in anger at the abrupt dismissal and turned to leave.

"Agent?"

He looked back at her, schooling all the annoyance from his features so that nothing showed on his face.

"The recent behaviour of your team reflects on your leadership." The veiled threat was sharp and meant to cut and he forced himself not to react. "That is something the bureau will be looking into over the coming weeks."

With a curt nod, he left her office. Once outside he let the mask fall away and his face betrayed all the anger and frustration he felt. Then he saw Reid hovering at the end of the corridor.

The young man tensed at the anger he saw and tucked his head down before hurrying away.

Damn.

Gideon went to follow but Morgan took his arm. He said no words and finally Gideon nodded. From this distance, Hotch couldn't hear what Gideon said but it was only one word and he could easily read it on his lips.

"Go."

-o0o-

**Morgan**:

"Muhammad Ali once said:

_Only a man who knows what it is like to be defeated can reach down to the bottom of his soul and come up with the extra ounce of power it takes to win when the match is even_."

Morgan walked through the rain, following the directions that Garcia had given him. She had easily found Reid on the circuit cameras. She had also given him something else and he'd stared at the apparently non-sequiter item in confusion. "_I don't understand."_ He had said and she'd smiled, kissed her fingers and pressed them to his forehead. "_You will."_ She said sadly.

The young man was sheltering under the old oak in the grounds of the FBI. Morgan dipped under the branches and came up behind him.

Reid didn't look round. "I really messed up this time, didn't I?" He said.

"Kid, you saved Alexa. And as for Finn Jensen, he was dead the moment he walked into that mall. That's the way he wanted it and you can't blame yourself for that."

"But Hotch-"

"Strauss asked you what went down out there, you told her. Hotch understands that." Morgan said. "He doesn't expect you to lie for him."

Reid turned. His wet clothes stuck to his skin and it only emphasised just how _thin_ he was.

Morgan sat down on the ground and rested his back against the tree. "I know this isn't just about Hotch." He said and pushed passed the clench in his belly, "talk to me."

Reid shuffled around and crossed his legs, Indian style, but kept his eyes in his lap.

"You're wrong if you think I won't understand." He told him and the words he'd wanted to say for so long but thought would stick in his throat came freely now and while his chest hurt at having to relive some of the worst moments of his life, he knew it would hurt so much more to walk away and leave the boy to his pain. "You were there in Chicago and I know you figured it out."

The young man looked up at that, a flicker of shock crossing his face. Morgan guessed, after he was worked so hard to keep Carl a secret from the team that Reid was surprised to hear him confess the truth so easily. And he could understand that, because he was surprised by his own words.

But Reid's next sentence proved his assumption wrong. "It doesn't compare." He sounded so certain of that. "You were a child and I…" He swallowed. "What happened to me wasn't bad and I don't even remember it."

"Wasn't bad?" He tried not to let the frustration that word engendered show on his face. "Reid, you were kidnapped, you were drugged and you were sexually assaulted. That's bad."

Reid shuddered visibly. "I only know that happened because I read about it and now I have a few pictures but it's not in here." He jabbed at his head.

"And that makes a difference?" Morgan asked. "You know more about profiling than anyone except maybe Gideon. And your 187 IQ is perfectly capable of taking all the evidence we've gathered so far and filling in those gaps."

Something in the way the young man sniffed and rubbed at his eyes told Morgan he had hit home.

"It still doesn't-"

"Look, kid, believe me I know just how easy it is to minimise what happened to you. Trying to make yourself believe it wasn't that big a deal because it's easier than accepting that you had no control of what was done to you. That's human nature, Reid, a way to protect yourself from more pain." He looked away, because he couldn't say this looking at Reid. He hadn't ever admitted it to anyone and there was something clawing at his heart that was desperate to keep the secret. "You tell yourself…" He tried to swallow down the tightness in his throat and failed. "I told myself '_it's not bad because he didn't force me'_ or '_it didn't hurt' _or…" He drew a breath to calm the pounding he felt in his chest. "I always made those excuses for Carl. And you know what? I'm still doing it. When we deal with kids that have been abused before they're killed, there's a thought in that back of my head that I still can't shut up and what it says is this: Carl didn't do that to me."

Morgan pressed his head back against the tree bark and closed his eyes, focusing on the discomfort. Reid waited.

"Like that makes it better somehow, makes him less responsible," he shrugged and shook his head, hoping that at least some of this made sense when explaining it was so difficult. "But, Reid, it doesn't. What he did to me wasn't any better than what happens to other kids, or what happened to you. It's just different and that doesn't mean I get to hurt any more or any less."

He could tell that Reid didn't believe him. But he needed to hear it. And Morgan found…he _needed_ to say it, as if sharing those thoughts had released some of its stranglehold on him and he could breathe again for the first time in years.

"Are you talking to someone about this?"

"You."

Morgan smiled slightly. "Someone professional."

"No." He admitted. "I know I should but…"

Morgan waited and finally had to prompt. "But?"

"I don't know what to say."

"It's not a test, kid. There are no right or wrong answers."

"I know but… " He pushed his wet hair back, slicking it to his scalp. "I know I was kidnapped and that I was drugged and I know what the feels like because it happened before. But the rest…?" He hugged his bony knees to his chest. "I know I was given Viagra and that my body was forced, probably repeatedly, into orgasm and that my hands were used for the UnSub's gratification." He moved his hands away from himself as if they were contaminated. "But how can I talk about something I don't remember?"

Morgan's eyes followed the hands. "You just talk, Reid, and they'll help you find the words." He saw the dry, cracked skin around Reid's knuckles, so different from the usual pale and smooth softness, and reached for his left hand.

Reid looked ashamed and snatched the hand away.

"They look sore."

"I wash them all the time." Reid admitted and fresh tears tracked down his cheeks. "I can't stop thinking about how they were used and they never feel..." His lip trembled and trailed off as he fought back his tears.

"Clean?"

Reid looked up, perhaps surprised he'd guessed what he was going to say.

"I know how that feels, Reid. But no matter what was done to you, it doesn't make you dirty." He drew breath. "And Reid, washing won't make that feeling go away."

Reid swallowed. "What does?" He sounded so young.

"Time."

Reid looked down at his hands, studying the damage he'd done.

"I always loved your hands. The magic tricks." Morgan offered his palm and after a moment Reid laid his left hand in Morgan's right. With his other hand he reached into his pocket and took out the item Garcia had given him. "If you tell anyone what I'm packing…" He warned as he tugged a tube of cream from his trousers.

There was a flicker of a smile. "You carry hand cream?"

"I have dry skin all right?" He said as he squeezed a small amount on to his fingers. Now wasn't the time to explain.

Reid flinched a little at Morgan's touch but relaxed when he began stroking the cream into Reid's fingers and the moisture soothed the irritated skin. Morgan rubbed gently in small circles. The slide of skin against skin reached, unexpectedly, deep inside him and made his chest hurt. He was aware of Reid watching him, probably searching his features for signs of disgust at his perceived uncleanliness.

When he was done, he handed the tube over. "Keep it." He'd just buy Garcia a replacement. He drew a deep breath and drew his feet up in preparation to stand. "C'mon, kid, let's get you some dry clothes."

But Reid stayed where he was.

"Reid?"

The young man crossed his arms around himself, head bent down, wet tendrils of hair hiding his eyes. A shudder ran through him.

"Spencer?"

The stifled sound of a sob was his only reply.

Talking about his own experience had been so difficult for Morgan and yet he had known in his heart, all along, that it would just come down to this: taking Reid into his arms and holding him as he cried.

And as he pressed his cheek against the wet silk of Reid's hair, he realised it was the simplest thing in the world.

-o0o-

Gideon stood at the edge of the grounds, watching the small figures beneath the tree. The rain distorted their forms, melding them into a kind of single hunched shadow.

The memory of Reid standing his ground in the mall played on his mind. Reid was a man grown now.

And the realisation was like stone sliding through his stomach.

.

.

.

Author's note: References to Strauss' request for evaluations were made in "The Evilution of Frank" which occurs shortly after. Also advance apologies for any stress caused by the first line of the next chapter.


	13. The Middle

-o0o-

**The Middle**

**Prentiss:**

"_Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail._

Ralph Waldo Emerson."

**23 June 2008**

**Sun Pass State Forest, Oregon**

**One year later… **

Hal Parazoo scanned the forest around him with keen eyes. He knew the black tail was close. Very close. He could smell the deer's musk on the wind and his sharp ears caught the sounds of its soft tread; the faint cracking of leaves beneath its hooves.

Hal quietly notched his bow and pulled the arrow back. His movements were almost silent.

Almost…

The stag stepped forward, head erect, ears pricked, bright button eyes searching for source of the sounds he had heard. It was the most beautiful creature Hal had ever seen.

The wind dropped briefly and Hal released the tension in the bow.

The arrow shot forward and the animal fell. Its brief cry and the thud of its body echoed through the trees and there was a flurry of birds as they took flight in alarm.

Hal quietly went to ensure the stag was dead. He had no wish to see such a magnificent creature suffer.

The stag lay, bleeding and still, on the loam. Its muscles twitched under the pelt as the breath left its body. But Hal's eyes were drawn elsewhere, to the ground on which the deer lay.

Something poked out of the disturbed ground.

Hal looked closer.

It was a human skull.

-o0o-

**Montego Bay, Jamaica**

The sounds of the Beach Boys drifted on the warm breeze and mingled with the gentle shush of waves lapping at the shore. Morgan lay back on his sun lounger and drew a deep breath of honeyed air, deciding as he did so, that his life, on the whole, was pretty damned good right now. Then he slid his shades down his nose so that he could better enjoy the unobstructed view of two scantily clad babes passing by and thought how life could possibly get even better. He could see by the sidelong glances that his appreciation had not gone unnoticed. Nor was it unwelcome. And happiest of all, it was returned.

He smiled to himself as he watched them walk towards the bar. "You want a refill?" He asked his companion and scooped up their empty glasses without waiting for a reply.

On the other lounger, Reid didn't look up or give any indication that he'd even heard. He was curled up in the shade of a large parasol with several heavy textbooks dotted around him. Morgan shook his head. He had told him not to bring any work and had explained that vacations were about relaxation, but Reid had simply frowned and replied, "_this_ _is relaxing_."

And the really awful thing was: Morgan believed him.

Morgan followed the girls to the bar and hit them with the full force of his considerable charm. It was almost too easy to convince them to join him and Reid by the pool that evening for drinks and maybe a meal.

But he was aware, when he picked up the drinks and found them less ice cold than he expected, that perhaps he'd taken longer to chat them up than he'd thought.

Drinks in hand, Morgan returned to the loungers and was about to share the good news when he noticed the empty space beneath the parasol.

Reid was gone.

The books were still there and nothing was disturbed. But…

Morgan couldn't help the thin shred of panic that bubbled up in the pit of his stomach. Coos Bay had happened one year ago. Morgan had planned this vacation as a way of distracting Reid from the anniversary of his assault, to give the kid something positive to focus on as the date crept closer to May eleventh, but Morgan had found, in worrying about how it might affect his friend, that it played more on his mind than on Reid's.

Or rather it was troubling him more than Reid was admitting to being troubled.

"Reid?"

There was no reply.

He cursed himself for not insisting they both carried their cells.

"REID!"

"Yeah?"

He turned to see the skinny young man returning from the direction of the men's restroom and felt the tension leave his body. He handed over Reid's drink and laughed inwardly at himself at his own paranoia.

-o0o-

**25 June 2008**

**BAU, Quantico, Virginia**

Rossi walked into the bullpen and was forced into a halt as JJ strode quickly passed him. He saw her stop next to Hotch, her head bobbing slightly as she spoke. Rossi watched his friend's face turn grave before giving a tense reply and then quickly walked to his office.

Emily hurried over to JJ and by now Rossi was close enough to hear what she said.

"Did you say Quinn?" Prentiss demanded.

JJ nodded, "the chief from the Coos Bay PD."

He frowned. Their next case?

He walked slowly towards his own office, passing Hotch's window to see his friend on the phone. There was a hard look in his eyes and that made Rossi look back at Prentiss and JJ. The girls were talking together and casting worried glances towards Hotch's office.

He never had liked being kept out of the loop.

-o0o-

Hotch looked up as Rossi entered his office without knocking. "David?"

His friend frowned down at him. "You look like you've seen a ghost." Rossi commented. "And I don't think I have ever seen Prentiss rattled before."

Hotch sat back in his chair. "Did you hear about the Frederick Dean case in Oregon last year?"

"Disembowelled prostitutes and drug dealers?" He recalled. "You worked that case?"

"Yes. But what wasn't widely reported in the press at the time was that Reid went missing directly after we wrapped that case. He was found 3 days later over a hundred miles away near Chiloquin." Hotch told him. "He'd been dosed with flunitrazepam so his memories of what happened were almost non-existent. He'd also been given a PDE 5 inhibitor, probably Viagra, and had been sexually assaulted."

Rossi sat in the chair across from Hotch, his face betraying the shock he felt.

"Our investigations led us to believe that a man named Milo Kullen was responsible. But he disappeared and was never caught."

"And I take it the phone call was tell you that now he has?"

Hotch drew a breath. "They've just found his body."

"That's good news, isn't it?" Rossi pointed out. "Reid will finally have some closure."

Hotch shook his head. "There was a second UnSub. Unfortunately, we know nothing of his identity. All we have is an image of his necklace, a medallion and an incomplete profile." He paused. "Chief Quinn has requested that we take a look at the new evidence."

"With Reid and Morgan in Jamaica, this would be the best time." Rossi said. "Let me go."

Hotch looked up.

"A fresh pair of eyes might be just what this case needs."

Hotch remained silent, caught up in his thoughts. This was the last thing that Reid needed right now. The last year had been tough for him; emotionally shattered by his assault, he had struggled with his recovery from his addiction and had turned to support groups and Gideon's disappearance had hurt him deeply. Hotch had been quietly pleased that Morgan had taken a two week vacation at his friend's resort in Jamaica and had convinced Reid to go with him for some of that time.

Perhaps they could have this whole incident wrapped up by the time the team was back together.

"OK, why do I feel like I'm missing something?"

Hotch reached down to his bottom drawer and pulled out a file. He laid it in front of Rossi. "The necklace isn't the only picture we have in evidence."

-o0o-

Rossi sat on his sofa with the file across his lap and a glass of single malt in his hand. The room had grown dark and his eyes hurt from the strain of reading in the dim light, but he continued working through the night.

He scanned the interview reports several times over for little details that the others might have missed. He made his own notes on the 4 suspects – Richard Wells, Peter Watson, Martin Coffman and David Price – and pencilled his own rough profile based on the very scant facts about the UnSub's MO taken from Reid's clothes and injuries and built it against the type of personality that would fit with, and probably be the dominant of, a kid like Milo Kullen.

And with that framework in his mind, he began to look at everyone the team had met and dealt with in Coos Bay that might match. When the first rays of the approaching dawn began to light the room, Rossi put down the file. He was finally done and for all his work, he knew, for certain, only two things.

The first was: that it would take more than the discovery of a body to find this UnSub.

The second was: that it would be a long time before he could look Reid in the eye again and not see the terrible pictures in front of him.

-o0o-

**28 June 2008**

**Chiloquin City Morgue, Oregon**

Detective Mike Lyons curled his lip in disgust as he peered at the mouldering remains on the pathology slab. He was glad they hadn't stopped for pizza on the drive up here. He feared they would have been seeing it again if he had.

"Cause of death?"

"Gunshot wound to the back of the head." The pathologist said.

"Execution style," muttered Ray Turner, Lyons current partner. "How long ago?"

"Based on the advanced state of putrefaction, I'd say between 12 and 15 months."

Lyons muttered an oath under his breath.

"I'd lay odds on 13." Turner said. "Where was Dr Reid found?"

Lyons didn't need to check his notes. It was all burned into his head. "Less than 5 miles away."

"Why kill one and let the other go?" Turner said.

"Kullen wasn't a victim, Ray, he participated in the assault on Reid." Lyons frowned. "Maybe it was a power struggle."

"Or maybe Kullen was _forced_ to participate, did you ever think about that?" Turner pointed out.

The truth was he hadn't. But there was a very good reason for that. "You saw the video clip, didn't you?" He snapped impatiently. "Did it sound like he was being forced?"

"What about chemically?" Turner asked. "Reid was drugged, why not Kullen?"

-o0o-

**Montego Bay, Jamaica**

The jarring sound of Reid's phone ringing pulled Morgan from his doze. He groaned inwardly. This was the downside of suggesting they carry their phones.

Reid being Reid, he answered, when any sane person would have ignored the intrusion of the outside world.

"JJ." Reid said, his voice sounding slightly worried. "Is everyone OK?"

Morgan was close enough to hear her faint reply. "No. I mean, yes," she sounded too upset for that to be the truth. "We're all fine. I just…"

"Are you OK?" He demanded. "The baby?"

"We're both fine, Spence. It's…" She paused and he could imagine her face, eyes closed against whatever it was she was about to say. "Milo Kullen's body was found a few days ago."

Reid went very still and Morgan sat up.

"Rossi and Hotch have gone up to help the Coos Bay PD but…" Her voice softened. "He's been dead at least a year."

A single wet track slid down Reid's cheek.

"Spence..?" JJ asked.

"It's OK…" He said, "thanks for…letting me know."

"See you soon."

If Reid uttered a goodbye, it was too soft to hear. The young man hung up, tossed his phone on his lounger and wipe furiously at his face. Then he picked up his textbook and began reading again.

Morgan frowned, swung his legs over the side of his lounger then rested his elbows on his knees. He looked at Reid. "Kid?"

"The Coos Bay PD finally found Milo Kullen." His voice betrayed the tears he was trying to ignore. "He's dead."

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Not really." He sounded unsure so Morgan pushed a little.

"Reid?"

"I have a paper to submit to Professor Rhodes next week," he said and pointedly shifted so that his face was out of Morgan's line of sight, "I really need to concentrate on it."

-o0o-

**Coos Bay Police Department, Coos Bay, Oregon**

Quinn ushered Hotch and Rossi into his office and shook both their hands.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Agent Rossi. I have all of your books." He gestured to the chairs. "Perhaps, if you have time, you could answer some questions that I have."

"We're here at your request." Rossi said as he sat down and his tone was not warm. "To give you our professional opinion of Milo Kullen in light of the new evidence. I doubt there will be time for a Q&A."

Quinn straightened up, bristling at being admonished. "Actually, I'm surprised by your visit." He said tightly. "Was there something we missed at the briefing?"

Hotch frowned. "Briefing?"

"With Agent Gideon."

"Jason Gideon?"

"Yes." Quinn frowned. "Detective Lyons has kept in contact with him. Admittedly, he called your agent before I had agreed to it but I let it slide because he's a good cop. And the outcome made no difference, since I planned to bring you here anyway and Gideon came directly." He leaned forward and rested his arms on his desk, obviously reading volumes on their faces. "Is there something I should be aware of, gentleman?"

-o0o-

**2 July 2008**

**Montego Bay, Jamaica**

Shouting jolted Morgan from his sleep. As he came more awake, he realised that the noise was coming from the room next door.

_Reid._

Morgan fumbled a little, untangling himself from the woman he'd spent the night with, limbs still clumsy from heavy sleep and too much beer, and stumbled from his bed. The shouting from the next room had stopped and everything was quiet now but that didn't stop Morgan from busting the thin latch on the adjoining door and running into Reid's room.

The kid was sitting up in bed and he blinked dazedly at Morgan for a brief, shocked moment then grabbed wildly at something on his bedside table. Reid pushed his glasses onto his nose and then relaxed when he saw that it was Morgan.

"Reid, you OK?"

"Yeah, it was… it was just a dream." He admitted. With his long hair mussed and falling in untidy jags over his coke bottle glasses, he looked very young. Since JJ's phone call, Reid had been uncharacteristically quiet and withdrawn, retreating into his textbooks and deflecting Morgan's requests that he put them down and join him in the real world by saying he had classes at Everade University in a few days and that he was behind in his reading.

It wasn't hard to guess what he might have been dreaming of. "Coos Bay?"

Reid nodded.

Morgan walked further into the room and sat down on the edge of Reid's bed. "You wanna tell me about it?"

Reid leaned back against his pillows. "It's always the same." He said and Morgan knew, from previous conversations, what he'd seen. "I'm in my room and I see a shadow. Sometimes he's reading a book but I can't see the title and it feels important that I do..." He trailed off. "I don't know why it should be scary."

"Dreams don't have to make sense, Reid."

Reid looked down at his lap. "It feels like I know him."

"_There's_ your scary part, kid."

Reid looked up and his lips parted to say something more but another voice interrupted him.

"Derek?"

They both looked towards the speaker. Standing in the adjoining doorway was the girl, wearing one of Morgan's T-shirts. Morgan clenched his jaw in frustration. Reid looked at her and something Morgan couldn't decipher briefly crossed his features before he lowered his head and fixed his gaze on his hands.

"Give me 5 minutes, baby." He said and tried to keep the annoyance from his voice.

The girl looked less than happy. "It's cold."

She waited, staring at them both. When it became obvious she wasn't going to move without him, Morgan said. "Teresa-"

She crossed her arms.

Morgan stood up, knowing this was the only way to get rid of her. "Be right back, Kid."

It didn't take long to go through the pleasantries, but of course, Reid was gone by the time he got back.

-o0o-

Reid walked barefoot through the surf as the first glimmer of the sun appeared as a bright spot on the horizon where the sky met the sea. The water was warm and the wet sand oozed between his toes.

He remembered walking through the dunes at Coos Bay's Horsfall beach last year. It had been dusk then and the breakthrough that would lead them to Frederick Dean had still been a few days off. He had been thinking about Dilaudid, about the drug dealers who'd looked at him with harsh smiles that said they could see the hunger in his eyes, and had struggled with a confusing mixture of shame at his addiction and desperate desire for it to continue so he could bury himself in its comfort. He had thought then, that his life was at the lowest point it could get.

Barely a week later he'd learned how wrong he had been.

It seemed so long ago and yet it still hurt like it was fresh and new.

One year…

It didn't seem real.

"You ran out on me, Kid."

He turned to see Morgan hurrying across the sand. There was badly concealed anxiety on his face.

"I'm sorry." He wadded out of the surf and dropped, cross legged, onto the sand. He looked around, not really expecting to see the girl but taking the opportunity to deflect. "I should probably apologise to Teresa too. I ruined your night." There was something distant churning in his stomach that he didn't want to acknowledge that wasn't sorry for that at all. He rubbed his eyes. "I haven't had that dream for…" he paused to think, "9 weeks and 4 days. I thought it was gone."

Morgan sat down next to him. "JJ shouldn't have called you." There was a note of anger in his voice. "She should have waited until you were back. Kullen isn't gonna be any less dead next week."

"I'm glad she did." Reid told him. "I don't like secrets." JJ, of all of them, was the one he trusted most not to conceal things from him 'for his own good'.

"Reid-"

He cut him off. "Do you think Hotch showed Rossi the pictures?" He didn't wait for an answer, because he knew what it was and didn't want to hear it out loud. "I liked that someone on the team hadn't seen me that way."

"Those pictures don't change how we think of you, kid. They just made us more determined to find this UnSub."

He blinked back tears, unable to find the words to tell Morgan why it was so important to him that Rossi didn't know and knowing in his heart that Morgan already understood and that no explanation was necessary.

He could feel Morgan's concerned gaze as an almost physical presence. "I wish you weren't flying out tonight." Morgan told him.

"I'm not. The class has been cancelled." He replied. "Professor Rhodes is in hospital."

"Another week here is just what you need." He nudged Reid's side. "You know Teresa was telling me her sister is a big _Dr Who_ fan."

The young man fell silent, grateful of Morgan's attempt to pull him out of his depression but too tired to pretend right now. And he had to get something out, purge himself of the ugly certainty that clawed at his gut.

"We're never going to catch him, are we?"

"Reid, we're gonna find this bastard and we _are_ going to put him away." There was no question or hesitation in Morgan's voice. He looked directly at Reid. "I promise you that."

-o0o-

**15 July 2008**

Sunlight glittered on the medallion.

"Do we have a deal?"

He knew that there was only one answer: the right answer, the _just_ answer.

And yet, even with a thousand chances, a million, his reply would always be the same.

May God forgive him.

"Yes."

.

.


	14. Cold Case: Part One

**.**

**Cold Case**

**14 April 2011**

Detective Sargent Lyons studied the pale young man sitting in the hospital bed. He was poking at the cannula in the back of his left hand with his right index finger. No blood oozed around the needle, but it had to hurt. Lyons had to fight the urge to grab the boy's hands and force him to stop and made himself look elsewhere. But his eyes fell on the pattern of cigarette burns on the inside of the young man's arm and that made his gut twist even more.

_So familiar…_

Lyons sat forward, trying to make the young man acknowledge his presence, but he simply bent his head lower to avoid his gaze. Lyons drew a deep breath and pitched his question to the unruly mop of dark curls instead.

"When did you first meet Dr Reid?"

-o0o-

**Reid:**

"_It is not flesh and blood, but heart, which makes us fathers and sons. _

Fredric von Schiller."

**23rd February 2009**

Spencer watched the little green light on his answer phone blink slowly, announcing the message waiting for him. He stood over it and counted the single second lapse between blips.

One, on.

Two, off.

Three, on.

Four, off.

Almost every night for the last 3 weeks he had gone through his ritual of coming home, seeing the light and making himself wait for the answer to The Question. The longest he had gone was ten minutes and forty two seconds. He could have read a whole book in that time and yet he had wasted it doing this.

It was ridiculous. He knew that. But he still did it.

Was the message from his father or not?

As the weeks passed, he knew it was more likely to be 'not'. Because after their meeting – he refused to think of it as a reunion – William had fallen back into the status quo of being a non-entity in his son's life.

It bothered Reid for two reasons. The first was; that he hated to be reminded that his father's abandonment still hurt, even after all these years. The second was; that it robbed him of the opportunity of ignoring his father in return.

And on that burst of anger, he pressed the button.

"Hi, Spencer, it's Matt." Of course it was. Why did he still feel disappointment? "Are you still OK to make the presentation next week? I really need to finalise numbers so if you could get back to me before Wednesday that would be great. Thanks."

He had to accept it. His father was never going to call.

Reid deleted the message.

-o0o-

**28th February 2009**

**California Institute of Technology**

The presentation had gone well. The small, select group of students had been attentive and had asked astute questions. Their engagement was so different to the usual bored and disinterested reception that Reid couldn't help feeling a little bit of pride in his University. He remembered listening to just such a pitch, in this very same room, when he been a few months shy of 15. The FBI agent giving that talk had entered the room believing the genius kid in the front row had been mis-selected. He had left knowing that Spencer-Doctoral-Candidate-Mathematics was one of the finest minds in the country and any organisation in which he showed an interest should count itself lucky.

He sometimes wondered if Gideon remembered that early meeting.

There was an impromptu gathering afterwards, with tea and coffee, so that any interested students could stay and learn more about working for the FBI in a more informal setting. Professor Ryan had been hovering at his elbow since he and Rossi packed up their guidance materials. It had been several years since Reid had seen him last, but the small and busy man hadn't changed a bit. He was talking, as always, in rapid sentences and Reid could tell that Rossi was losing his patience.

"…those of us fortunate enough to study with him." Ryan's hands were beginning to get into the act, a familiar sign of his old professor warming to his subject, punctuating his words. "I had the opportunity to attend his lecture in Maine last year and it was simply brilliant. He asked after you. Perhaps you would…"

It was something of a relief to Reid that Rossi chose that moment to be distracted by a pretty student, who was less interested in the FBI than she was in rich, older men, and moved away.

Ryan continued extolling Professor Beckett's virtues and Reid tried to look interested.

-o0o-

Rossi's eyes flickered over to Reid. It was amusing to see the young man put into the position the team often found themselves around him. But then the humour trickled away as he caught the discomfort Reid was trying to hide.

Despite the attributes of Lily – and they were many – he would have left her side to rescue Reid had Ryan not suddenly changed tacks and demanded of Reid.

"Have you met Noah?" Ryan waved his hand in the direction of a young man who was reading one of the information booklets. "You must meet Noah. Noah!"

Rossi watched the young man approach. He was no more than 18, if that, all gangly limbs and awkward motion, and he had delicate features that would be very attractive if he had the confidence to show them off. And despite looking very different, there was something about him that reminded Rossi strongly of Reid.

"Noah is one of our best TA's." Ryan told him. "He transferred from the Andrews-Marcello University last semester. He's on track to beat your record. Noah, this is Dr Spencer Reid."

"Noah Layton," the boy said, "I really enjoyed the presentation, Dr Reid. I read your paper on dissociative identity disorders last year." His eyes flickered to Ryan then offered Reid a smile. "Perhaps I could ask you some questions over a coffee?"

Reid nodded enthusiastically and apologised to Professor Ryan before following Noah to the refreshments.

Rossi smiled to himself at the artful rescue, for more subtle than he would have done.

_Smart kid…_

-o0o-

Rossi and Reid made their way through the campus. Or rather, Reid did and Rossi followed, allowing the young man to guide him through the maze of corridors with an ease that spoke of long practice.

One of the faculty – Rossi had only heard him referred to as Matthew – was waiting for them outside. Rossi had noticed, on several occasions during the gathering, his attempts to talk to Reid alone.

The young man smiled in greeting but didn't approach, waiting for Reid to come to him. Rossi busied himself checking his messages, but he was close enough to hear.

"I wish you were staying over." Matthew said to Reid, his eyes bright.

Rossi frowned. He wouldn't be the profiler he was if he missed…whatever it was he wasn't missing.

"I can't." Reid replied, brushing a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. "I have a christening tomorrow."

"We could catch up."

"I'm the godfather."

A high voice pulled Rossi's attention away from them. "David!" He turned to see Lily hurrying over and smiled.

But the time she'd finished distracting him, Reid and his friend had disappeared.

He didn't see Reid again until it was time to board the plane.

-o0o-

**1 March 2009 **

**St Stephen's Church, Washington DC**

Reid felt Henry's tiny feet press against his left hand as he held him in the crook of one arm. In his other hand, he held a lit candle. The baby blinked up at him with squinted eyes as he promised, before God, before Henry's parents and their family and friends, to guide him and teach him all the days of his life.

He looked up at the row of people. Hotch holding Jack in his arms, the little boy resting his head against his father's shoulder as he watched, Garcia clutching a white bible to her chest, Emily and Morgan smiling and JJ and Will, pressed together in an almost hug, eyes full of pride for their beautiful baby.

His eyes were drawn to Jack, nestled so close to Hotch, and then to Will, who reached out and brushed his fingers against his tiny son's cheek.

He thought, sadly, of his father.

But it was Gideon he missed.

-o0o-

Many hundreds of miles away, William Reid sat in his garden, surrounded by the neat order of his very simple life. He stroked the thin and half bald cat that was curled up in his lap.

The silence was very loud indeed.

And it was in the cemetery too, many more miles away. David Price lay flowers at his son's grave and wept. Bitter tears for another year without Daniel; for the year that had just passed and for the one that was to come. The pain would never be over. His grief would never end, never lessen.

-o0o-

Reid sat at the back of the room, away from the horde of friends and relatives. Large gatherings were not, at the best of times, something he enjoyed and this was not even close to a good time.

He was tired from flying coast to coast in economy and back again in the space of 2 days and his head was full of yesterdays and tomorrows that he would never have.

And there had been no messages waiting for him when he got home.

In the centre of the room, in the centre of attention, Will cradled Henry. No matter how many times Reid had looked away, his gaze always returned to them and the warmth and joy that seemed to radiate from them.

"Hey, you OK?"

He turned at Morgan's voice, "yeah," and saw understanding in his eyes. And something more than just Morgan's knowledge of his friend, the very same something he had probably read on Spencer's face.

Morgan missed his father too.

His loss, Reid knew, ran deeper than his own, in both the violence that had stolen him from Morgan and in the terrible consequences that the gap left in his son's life had wrought.

Reid reached out to take Morgan's arm, to offer the very comfort that Morgan was always so willing to give him.

His cell rang, loudly and sharply, stilling his hand. He dug it out quickly, intending to turn it off, but then the caller ID on the little screen froze his heart.

He pressed the answer button and his voice sounded so normal when he spoke. "Hello?"

"Hi, Spencer…"

It was his father's voice.

-end of part one-

.

.

_A/N: This is probably going to be the last update for the next 4 weeks since I'm decamping out of London next weekend ahead of the 2012 Olympics to spend 2 weeks on a small Greek island doing nothing more taxing than applying sun block. I may squeeze in one more chapter before I go but here is a better place to leave it since it's wall to wall cliff hangers until the end from now on in. Time shifts ahead again next chapter (we know Reid's dad plays no role in his son life after "Memoriam.")_

_I have some quote/unquote proper writing to do when I get back, as well as some CPD, and I'll also be fighting post-holiday bleh so if 15th August passes and there hasn't been any update, drop me a reminder to say that you're still waiting and that I really do want to write THAT chapter. Thanks for reading so far. X_


	15. Cold Case: Part Two

There was so much want.

And the young man was perfect - so very perfect - but he should resist him. It was foolish to go against the deal he'd made. And yet…there was some hope.

He would have to be careful.

-o0o-

**26 March 2011**

_Morgan walked closer to the figures in the distance, one black and other white, sitting together just above the tide line of this beautiful beach. They were not looking at each other, but rather at the first glimmers of dawn far out on the horizon where the sea met the sky in an even line._

_Morgan knew this beach. He knew, too, this moment, when he had made The Promise._

_The tiny figures were larger now and he began to see details, like the way the early light glinted on Reid's glasses and illuminated the black man's profile._

_Except…there was something wrong about that, something disturbing. The curve of nose and lips did not remind him of himself and yet…it was all still so familiar._

_The black man turned to look his way and as he did so, he reached out and brushed his knuckles against Reid's cheek. A sickeningly familiar gesture of possession and intimacy; it had been one of Carl's favourite moves. _

_Carl smiled as Morgan broke into a run but his legs were suddenly like lead. He couldn't run fast enough no matter how hard he tried. He would never get there in time to stop Carl._

_Buford smiled and caressed Reid again. "You should never have promised him, Derek." He said._

Morgan's eyes opened. The dream images faded away. The anxiety remained.

Years ago now, he had made Reid that promise. He had watched the trust and faith that the young man had in him take those words and clutch at them like a drowning man would clutch at a life preserver.

Reid had believed Morgan. And after, he had seemed more at peace than he had in years. Morgan had believed them too, at the time. How stupidly naive he was. They were no closer to finding the UnSub than they had been last year, or the year before.

Or God help them all, the year before that.

Reid, S, Dr, (05-11-07). Felony A: Kidnapping in the first degree. Felony B: Second degree sexual assault. Felony A: Assault in the second degree (with sexual motivation). #534-856-555.

Cold Case.

_"Reid, we're gonna find this bastard and we are going to put him away. I promise you that."_

He could still hear his own words and he took his promises seriously. He HAD meant every word.

Now he just had to live up to that.

-o0o-

**8 April 2011**

**Pasadena, California**

Mark Raymond knocked his boyfriend's door and frowned when the wood moved under his knuckles and swung ajar. He pushed it all the way open and stepped inside. Nothing appeared to be out of place. The small studio apartment was messy but that was nothing new.

The tiny CRT TV perched precariously on the edge of the coffee table – the one place in the apartment that it's ancient antennae could pick up a half decent signal - was still on.

"Noah?"

He went to turn the TV off, surprised that his lover would waste energy like this when he was normally very vocal about other people's casual attitude to the planet's future.

"NOAH?"

There was no answer.

-o0o-

**BAU, Quantico, Virginia**

Morgan glanced up from his work to look across at Reid. The young man was bent over his desk, left hand cupped slightly over his eyes to minimise the glare from the overhead florescent lighting. Dark prescription Ray-Bans lay next to him on the desk and his right hand was worrying them as if he was forcing himself to resist the urge to put them on.

He was having a migraine. Again. That made four this month and this past week he had grown increasingly pale and his eyes, normally shadowed, looked hollowed and sunken.

And it wasn't just Reid. Overworked and still reeling from Emily's death, the team was collectively and individually shattered.

And another anniversary – another May 11 – was about to pass.

Morgan would not fail Reid, not like he had failed…

-o0o-

_…Emily Prentiss._

_She gasped under his hands… hands that were now slick with her blood…blood that was now staining the floor red. He could feel it seeping into his trousers as he knelt at her side. His knee was damp, warm and sticky. If he lived to be one hundred, he would never forget how that felt. Or how the warmth oozed over his fingers despite the pressure he applied. Nor would the sound of her breathing ever leave him, because he willed her through every single breath._

_And then, the gasping ceased._

_No._

_"Emily!"_

_It didn't happen like this. Not here._

_"Emily!"_

_It didn't. This wasn't right. She didn't die like this._

_"Emily!"_

_God, no._

_Please._

_Her eyes snapped open, lifeless and blank._

_Her pale dead lips moved._

_"You should never have promised him, Morgan."_

Morgan jolted awake and lay blinking up at the ceiling. The feel of his heart pounding in his chest gave him something to focus on until the watering of his eyes ceased.

He turned and looked at the clock.

3.37 am.

Too early to get up for a run and too late to hold out much hope of getting back to sleep.

Damn.

-o0o-

**11 April 2011**

**30 miles south of Victorville, California**

Brian Hunter drove his rig through the night. Not exactly legal, but hell, his wife was about to drop their first kid and there was no way on God's Green Earth – nor no tight ass law in the land – that would make him miss it. They were all bastards for making him work at a time like this anyway. Why the hell couldn't Obama stop pandering to Congress and get everyone a fair deal on heathcare? So the good decent people of this land could be with their families at times like this and not out working every hour God sends.

He was still cursing his misfortune when his headlights lit on a bundle lying at the roadside. He hit the brakes.

Hunter leaned over his steering wheel to get a better look.

Was that a…person?

Muttering more oaths, Hunter grabbed a tire iron and got out, half expecting some joker to jump out and steal his rig. But the possibility of this being a hiker or a jogger that had been the victim of a hit and run kept him moving forward despite his better judgement.

It was a kid. Breathing too but from the half open slits of his eyes he was clearly off in la-la land.

Junkie. Another thing Obama needed to get moving on to clean that filth off the streets.

But he knelt at the boy's side anyway and went through the bits of First Aid training he remembered, rolling the kid into the recovery position and checking that his airways were clear.

When he'd exhausted all he knew, he pulled out his cell phone. His mind raced ahead of events, time for the call, time to wait for the ambulance, time to talk to the police, maybe even face questions about how long he'd been on the road, maybe face some time in the cooler if they learned he'd been overdoing the driving and maybe…

…lose his job.

And he needed the work right now.

Damn.

He put his phone away.

He hated leaving the kid, hated the thought that, years down the line, someone could make this choice and leave _his_ kid alone in the freezing night, but…no law on God's Green Earth…

He got back into the truck, guilt and self-disgust roiling in his belly.

At the next pit stop, some 40 miles later, he used the pay phone to make an anonymous call to the emergency services.

-o0o-

Noah Layton lay on his side, clutching the stiff and unforgiving hospital bed sheet up to his chin. He could feel the dull thudding of his heart beating in his chest where the skin over his ribs was pressed against the very hard mattress.

He didn't understand.

He had understood the words – missing, drugged, assaulted, abandoned – that part was quite clear. What he couldn't take in was that it had happened to him. None of those events were in his memory. Not one. He had…patches…snatches of time in his head, vague impressions of terror that made his gut hurt when he thought about it, but nothing else. Nothing like what people were telling him had happened.

Hospital staff came and went. Someone brought him food which he ate mechanically. A nurse told him his aunt, who had raised him since his parent's deaths when he was ten, was flying in. Mark hovered like a wasp around something sweet, buzzing and fussing in a way that shouldn't have been easy to drown out but was. His few friends from campus stayed a while, full of relief that he was alive when they'd feared the worst. And detectives from the police department had asked him questions that he couldn't answer. He could sense their frustration at his continual "I don't know" and "I don't remember" answers. Had the doctor's not explained his memory loss? Maybe they thought he was faking.

Maybe _they_ were faking?

Maybe this was just a bad joke?

Candid Camera?

That would make sense.

That he could understand.

-o0o-

**12 April 2011**

**Behavioural Analysis Unit, Quantico, Virginia**

Garcia sat at her computer screens with a tub of yoghurt in one hand and a spoon in the other. The index finger of the spoon hand was pointing out straight, ready to tap on her keyboard.

A small box popped up on her screen with the words **"I think I can guess ;) x"** on it. Flirting with Kevin via messenger was probably, well certainly, against policy but since she only did so during breaks she felt justified in bending the rules a little. It wasn't like it was interrupting her work…and besides, she could cover her tracks and so could Kevin.

She was about to tap out a reply when a cartoon dog, carrying a newspaper, bounded across the screen, sat down in the corner, dropped its burden and went "wuff" at her.

She dropped the spoon and straightened up in her chair. It had been so many years since she'd created that dog that she'd almost forgotten it was there.

The dog panted at her and that merely increased the panic bubbling up. What could she do? The only one who knew about the programme was long gone and like her messages, it was a serious misuse of the FBI's resources, only on a larger scale, a _much_ larger scale.

But she couldn't ignore it.

"Coffee!" She told herself. "I need coffee!"

-o0o-

Morgan helped himself to the last of the coffee in the carafe and was about to take a long and very satisfying gulp when Garcia scurried over, looked left and right as if she was afraid she was being followed, leaned in as if to whisper something then stopped, snatched the coffee mug and downed the hot liquid in one long and alarming drink.

"Baby Girl?"

She put the mug down and leaned in. "Do you know about the Hound?"

"Of the Baskervilles?" He asked before seeing on her face that the guess was wrong. He tried again. "Deputy Dawg?"

Again she looked around as she was checking that they weren't being observed. Then she snagged his wrist and pulled him after her.

When they reached her room, she closed the door behind her and turned to him. "Derek Morgan," she began, "meet…the Hound." She held her hand out to the main computer screen where a cartoon mutt was sitting in the bottom right hand corner, panting happily.

"O…K." He said slowly, but the worry he could see in her eyes preventing the amusement he would normally have taken at her exasperation. She sat down in her chair and sighed heavily.

Morgan knelt at her side. "Is that a virus?"

She shook her head. "I created it. It's never triggered before and it's searched, like, every day at this time for _years_."

Morgan looked at the dog. It went "wuff" for attention. "What's it searching for?"

She bowed her head. "Possible connections to Reid's UnSub…the one from Coos Bay."

"What?" He felt cold and yet flushed with heat as well. "I think you better start at the beginning, mama."

"After Reid was…after he…" He touched her arm so she wouldn't need to say the words out loud. "Gideon asked me if I could monitor news and police bulletins for kidnappings like Reid's. But it was impossible to do that every day and still work so I…created a programme to do it for me."

"The Hound?"

"Every day at this time, it picks five states at random and searches though news stories for the last month for keywords – sexual assault, kidnapping, memory loss, there were others I think. That was we'd cover the whole country every few weeks. But it never found anything."

"Until now?" He guessed. "Have you opened it?"

She shook her head.

Morgan reached for her mouse. "You just click, right?" He asked as he laid his hand on the little device.

"On the newspaper." She told him as she laid her hand over his.

Their eyes met.

"Do you think we'll find him?"

Morgan didn't reply as he moved the cursor over the graphic of the newspaper. Their fingers aligned, side by side, on the left button.

Then together, as one, they clicked.

-o0o-

Morgan scanned through the police report. Noah Layton had disappeared from his home last week and had been found 3 days later, unconscious and heavily sedated, on the Mojave freeway outside of Victorville, California. Forensic evidence taken from the young man's clothes and pubic hair strongly suggested that a non-penetrative sexual assault had taken place although he had no recollection of his kidnapping. The doctors had concluded that he was suffering from traumatic amnesia.

The details bore a strong resemblance to those of Reid's case and most of all, he fit victimology. Noah was around the same age as Reid had been, his IQ was well above genius level, although not as high as Spencer's, and when his yearbook photo appeared, his features showed a young and handsome man with the same kind of striking bone structure Reid had.

"What should we do?" Garcia asked.

"We take it to Hotch."

-o0o-

Hotch had listened in silence to Garcia's breathy explanation of the technical brilliance of her Hound. Gideon's role in this did not surprise him, nor did Garcia's ability to create a seemingly innocuous search programme that would slip by the attention of some of the FBI's finest technical minds. What did surprise him was that he hadn't known about it.

And now they had results…

Hotch got up and went to the window of his office. Through the open slats of the blinds he could see Reid and Seaver talking together. He appeared to be making an attempt to dazzle her with physics magic.

"Hotch?" Morgan prompted, "what're we do, man?"

He turned. "We should inform Detective Lyons of the Coos Bay PD." He said. "It's his case."

Garcia flinched at the not too subtle reminder that her actions, and Gideon's, had been strictly against policy. "A copy is automatically e-mailed to him. It's bounced over almost a hundred different servers so it's untraceable."

"Good." Hotch returned to his seat. "Let's hope it provides the breakthrough we've been waiting for."

Morgan got to his feet. "So that's it?" He sounded angry. Hotch could relate. "We just hand over what we have and go back to sitting on the bench?"

"I need not remind you that until these cases are officially linked, they remain state crimes and we have no jurisdiction in either Oregon or California."

"They _have_ to be connected!" Hotch could hear the note of desperation in Morgan's voice. He _needed_ this to be the break in the case they had been waiting for all these years, possibly more than Reid, who seemed to have come to terms with possibility he may never see his assailant jailed. Morgan's reaction shouldn't surprise Hotch and yet it did, and he didn't know why.

"I agree there are some strong similarities." He admitted.

"Then we need to contact-"

"No." He spoke clearly and at normal volume, yet the word cut off Morgan as sharply as if it had been yelled.

Morgan shifted, pent up energy barely contained. "Hotch, we could be _this_ close-" He held up his finger and thumb once inch apart. "-to finding this son of a bitch. Lyons is a damn good cop but he's not a profiler."

"I understand how you feel and believe me, I share your frustration." Hotch's tone remained even. "But the…method of obtaining this information has placed us on very thin ice." His eyes flickered to Garcia. "And until the case becomes federal, our hands are tied."

"The UnSub could be long gone by then." Morgan's tone betrayed the effort it was taking to restrain his anger. "It could be another 4 years before he surfaces again!" He took a step forward. "I cannot," Morgan said harshly, "and I will not sit this one out!"

"You can and you will, agent!" Hotch snapped back.

Morgan began to stalk out, his clenched fist rising in preparation to connect with the door.

"Agent!" Hotch's sharp tone was such that Morgan automatically obeyed. He stopped.

"We cannot involve ourselves in cases without an invitation." He said and tried to ignore the sensation that he was walking straight towards a cliff face – "however," – and jumping right off, "what you do or where you go in your own time…"

Morgan waited, dark eyes distrustful.

"You requested the weekend off for your mother's birthday." Hotch lied and he found that the clench in his gut from his leap of faith might be bearable after all. "Your leave is granted."

After a long moment, the man nodded, one brief, decisive dip of his head. No apology for his outburst, but Hotch could see it in his eyes.

Morgan turned to leave.

"One more thing," Hotch added.

The agent looked back.

"No matter what, I expect you back here on Monday morning. Is that understood?"

-o0o-

**14 April 2011**

Noah looked up as the nurse ushered in two men, who flashed their police badges before each taking a seat at either side of the hospital bed.

"Sargent Lyons," the one with greying hair said and gestured at his companion. "That's Detective Turner."

"I've already talked to you people." Noah said. "I told you everything I know, which is nothing. Talk to the doctor's. They know all sorts of stuff about me."

"That was the Pasadena PD." Turner said. "We're from Coos Bay in Oregon. And we have some different questions for you."

Noah sighed and pressed his head against the pillows.

"Your case is remarkably similar to another we investigated a few years back." Lyons told him. "We'd like to ask you some questions to determine whether there's a connection."

Despite himself, Noah felt a flicker of interest. It mattered, in a way he could not explain, for there to have been someone else who had gone through this.

"Who?" he asked.

Lyons exchanged a look with his partner.

"Does the name Spencer Reid mean anything to you?" Turner asked.

It did sound familiar and it took him a few moments to place it. "Dr Reid?"

There was a flicker on Lyons face that he didn't understand. "Yes." He confirmed.

"He comes to my university every year to do a talk about working for the FBI. We've spoken a few times." He frowned. "Did this happen to him?" His heart skipped in alarm and he couldn't voice the next question: _did he do this to me?_

"I'm afraid I can't discuss that." Lyons replied. "When did you meet him?"

Noah fell silent. Denied the chance of taking some comfort from the knowledge that he wasn't alone and filled with dread at the thought that maybe, just maybe, the doctor had done this to him, he took to picking listlessly at the cannula in the back of his hand and refused to acknowledge their presence.

Lyons leaned forward. "When did you first meet Dr Reid?"

-o0o-

Morgan perched his backside on the edge of Reid's desk. The younger man looked up questioningly and Morgan was struck, once again, by just how much he had matured in the last year or so. His short hair gave his whole demeanour a more serious tone and he had gained a good 30 pounds. He was still slender – his bone structure and body type would never allow him to bulk up like Morgan's had no matter how hard he tried – but his frame had lost that often alarmingly skeletal appearance.

"How's your head?"

Annoyance crossed Reid's face and Morgan guessed he hadn't confided about his headaches in order to be badgered every minute of the day about how he was feeling. "Better." He leant down and opened his bottom drawer. He removed a nasal spray and showed it, discreetly, to Morgan. He left the drawer open. "I'm trying this."

Morgan's eyes fixed on the contents of the drawer, even as he pretended to look at the bottle of Zolmatriptan that Reid held. The file at the bottom, almost completely buried except for the upside down scrawl in Reid's hand that declared its contents, begged to be picked up. "Is it working?" The normalness of his own voice surprised him.

"When you factor out variables such as alterations to dietary choices and environmental conditions as well as any possible placebo effect," he began and then, surprisingly, answered succinctly, "yes." Another sign of his growing maturity and, although Morgan would never admit it, this change was not so…pleasing.

"That's great news, kid." He smiled.

Reid was about to say more when his phone rang. He immediately answered it, one hand returning his nasal spray to the drawer as he did so. Morgan's eyes stayed on the file until the drawer was shut.

-o0o-

Noah answered all their questions about his meetings with Dr Reid. There wasn't really much of a story there. At their first meeting, Reid had lectured and Noah had listened. Afterwards, they'd discussed a paper. At their second and third meetings, Noah had volunteered to help set up the lecture room for the FBI and Reid had taken the time to say thanks and enquire about how his studies were going and if he was still intending to apply for the academy.

Lyons wrote it all down, but he doubted any of it was going to be of use. Was this the solid connection they'd come down here looking for? After so many years, he felt reluctant to pass the case over to the Feds. Yet it _had_ to mean something that the 2 men knew each other but what…? Was the connection CalTech? He certainly didn't relish trawling through the faculty for names known to both Reid and Layton. The list would probably number in the hundreds.

He could only hope that the Pasadena PD had the resources to spare. But then, by Monday that would no-longer be an issue because the FBI certainly did.

-o0o-

**15 April 2011**

It had been a tense few days. The team had been called to North Carolina and Morgan was conscious the whole time of the days creeping closer to the weekend. The case broke on the Friday morning and by early evening they were headed back to Virginia.

Morgan had already packed a bag for his trip before they had been called away and he'd planned his moves carefully. It took him a little more than the hour he'd allowed himself to finish up at the BAU, but he gained that back when going home, dropping off his go bag, giving Clooney a rawhide chew in apology and picking up his second bag had taken a full 30 minutes less than he'd anticipated. There had only been one time consuming element of his plan and that proved easier, but certainly no quicker, than he expected. Waiting for Reid to leave had been a test of his patience – didn't the young man ever relax? – but the kid had finally gone home. Morgan had waited another 5 minutes to ensure Reid wouldn't come back for something he'd forgotten then went to the young man's desk. He quickly opened the bottom draw, lifted up the various files and items and pulled out the file Reid kept buried there.

"Sorry, kid." He said aloud as he closed the drawer. With any luck, he could replace the file and Reid would never know it was gone.

By 10.30, he was in the air again, squished into an economy seat – the only ones available – and skimming through Reid's work. Here, in Reid's none too tidy handwriting, was everything he had gathered about the life of Milo Kullen, including transcripts of the brief conversations they'd had in the Bay View Hotel. And knowing Reid, it was probably as close to word perfect as it was genius level humanly possible to get.

It was a long flight and his muscles were cramping badly by the time he got off the plane. Clearly the comfort of the Lear jet had spoiled him and he swore never to fly less than business class in future.

A rental car was waiting for his collection, a two year old blue Ford with the ugliest upholstery Morgan had ever seen. He drove to the hotel he'd booked because it was only minutes away from the PD, checked in and as soon as he got to his room, collapsed on the bed. The colour scheme was all marigold and butter tones that made the interior of the Ford seem not so bad in retrospect.

He called Garcia because she'd made him promise to, and he toyed with the idea of also contacting Hotch. He quickly decided against it. He had nothing to report and actually telling his team leader where he was and what he was doing, rather than having him "not know" would put Hotch into an awkward position professionally.

He wondered too if informing Lyons of his availability to offer assistance was a good idea – the detective's cell phone number had mysteriously appeared on his desk a couple of days ago – but again there was nothing to discuss.

But he itched to be doing something, anything, even though it was now well past midnight and the only sensible thing to do would be to get some sleep.

Tomorrow would be a long day.

-o0o-

Morgan rose early after a largely sleepless night of tossing and turning. He skipped breakfast and went immediately to the local PD. As he approached the steps leading up to the main entrance, he saw a figure go inside, just the back of his body and only the barely of glimpses but something about his gait, his stance sent a flash of recognition through him.

His heart began to race as he quickly hurried up the steps and into the building.

Inside, it looked like any other police department. There was cops, a few civilians, two cleaners. He scanned the faces but there was no-one he knew.

"Can I help you, sir?" The desk sergeant asked, glaring down from his raised desk area with guarded suspicion.

Morgan got out his badge. "I'd like to speak to the officer's attached to the Noah Layton kidnapping."

It was a source of bitter amusement for Morgan to see how cops attitude towards him always changed on the production of a small square of leather, paper, laminate and metal, from being seen as some black punk hard ass ready to cause trouble to respected superior in less than 2 seconds flat.

The desk sergeant tapped up the information. "That's detectives Ansell and Coyle. I'll have one of the officers take you up. I think they're interviewing right now so you may have to wait awhile."

"That's OK." Only it wasn't. Not at all. He only had 48 hours and he didn't intend on wasting a single one.

A slender and very pretty officer led him upstairs. Her questions about the FBI boarded on the flirtatious but her talk and her appreciative glances left him stone cold.

Once upstairs, she led him to Ansell and Coyle's desks and he sat down to wait.

"I'll let them know you're here." She said. "But they shouldn't be too long."

Time passed slowly. The precinct clock had no ticking that he could hear over the jumble of noise so familiar to him from his days as a cop. He didn't tap his foot impatiently but it wasn't for the want of the desire to do so.

Finally he heard footsteps behind him.

"Agent Morgan?" A voice said.

He turned in his seat to see a pleasant faced black detective around his own age walking towards him. But it was the man at his side that drew all of Morgan's attention.

He felt like he'd been kicked in the gut.

"Hello Morgan." He said with a so familiar smile.

It was Jason Gideon.

-end of part two-


	16. Cold Case: Part Three

My apologies for the extended wait between chapters. I was (and still am) suffering through a period of apathy. I really do want to finish this but I currently have little motivation. Thanks to everyone who left comments and encouragment. They helped so much to bring you this chapter.

* * *

.

Gideon held out his hand.

Morgan ignored it. He almost didn't trust what his eyes were telling him. The team had not seen nor heard from this man for almost 4 years. It was as if he'd dropped off the face of the earth. The ties that had bound Gideon to them had seemingly meant nothing to him. He had only offered Reid an explanation – a sop to the close bond he'd formed with the young man which he was severing so thoughtlessly – and he had done so in the coward's way, in the form of a letter left for Reid to find.

Morgan was aware of the detective watching like a spectator at a tennis match, looking from one to the other, waiting for someone to speak.

Morgan had gone through what he wanted to say to this man maybe a hundred times in his head but now the moment was here, he didn't know what to say.

Gideon let his hand drop. "I know you must be confused right now." He said in the calm and fatherly tone Morgan remembered so clearly.

Hearing the man tell him what he was feeling when he had no clue – probably never had a clue or he would have at least called to let them know he hadn't thrown himself off a building in his grief – jolted Morgan out of his shock.

"Confused?" He repeated, "man, I'm angry!"

At this moment, the detective decided to break in. "I'm Detective Ansell, Mr…Morgan, was it?"

Morgan took out his ID. Ansell looked at it then glanced at Gideon. Enlightenment crossed his features and Morgan was pleased to see it. This was one sharp cop.

"I'd like to review the Noah Layton case."

"You Feds work fast. We haven't even confirmed a link yet and we're a step off reporting it." He said. "Mr Gideon was telling me about the similarity to an incident involving an FBI agent back in 2007." He shook his head. "And I've had a couple of cops from the Coos Bay PD down here requesting an interview with Layton. You must want this man bad." Then he smiled and the dark skin around his eyes crinkled. "I can understand that." He took a file from his desk. "My partner has the medical report. He's conferring with the docs at General right now. Since Mr Gideon told us about your agent being rohypnol'ed, he's checking to see whether Layton's amnesia could have been caused by the same thing."

Morgan took the file. He was aware of Gideon watching him with clear interest. Ansell must have seen it too because he offered Gideon his hand and shook.

"Thank you for your time, Mr Gideon." He said. "We'll be in touch if we have any more questions for you."

Gideon hesitated. He covered it well, but the pause was still noticeable. "I'll be at the Vallejo motel," he told him and Morgan got the sense that was more for his benefit.

Morgan didn't look up from the file and ignored his departure.

-o0o-

Gideon walked down the stairs of the PD, with a pert young officer who was trying to make conversation following one step behind. He allowed her chatter to fade into the background as he weighed his choices. Stay or go?

He had intended to help Mike Lyons himself, to guide him and his partner in the right direction, but with Morgan's presence that would be difficult. Morgan was still FBI and despite the rapport Gideon had built with Lyons, he would still defer to that badge.

Gideon had expected the arrival of at least one of the team but he had planned to be long gone before they got here. Morgan's arrival had been…prompt. He paused on the last step and frowned.

Morgan's arrival had been _too_ prompt. Ansell had said no official report linking the cases had been made. Which meant… Morgan wasn't here officially.

Gideon frowned. Did that make things easier? Or harder?

Outside the precinct, Gideon looked back. Morgan's presence told him he couldn't afford to stay.

But equally, could he afford not to?

He put his hand into the breast pocket of his shirt and pulled out a chess piece, the white king, and rolled it between his fingers. His heart wanted him to run. Run home.

He had already left once without saying goodbye. It ought to be easier the second.

It wasn't.

He closed the king in his fist, squeezing it tightly. _I'm sorry_, he thought.

He sat down on the curb to wait.

-o0o-

Ansell didn't know what had gone down between Morgan and Gideon but it had obviously been bad. He could read the tension in the set of Morgan's shoulders and from the clench of his jaw. Despite this though, his focus on the files in front of him never wavered.

Whoever this Dr Reid was, he was a lucky man. He had some very loyal friends.

Coyle wandered over. "Just got off the phone with Layton's doctor." He said to Ansell before holding out his hand to Morgan. "Peter Coyle."

"Derek Morgan."

_FBI,_ Ansell mouthed to his partner.

Coyle raised his eyebrows. "The doc confirmed there's no trace of flunitrazepam in Noah's tox screen, but he tested positive for Viagra. But he did say it's not conclusive that there wasn't any. Apparently rohypnol leaves the system pretty quick and the kid probably lay where he was for some time before he was found."

The FBI agent looked up from the file. "An anonymous tip off?"

"Call came from a payphone in a bar about 30 miles outside of Victorville. We had no luck finding the caller."

"Noah was taken from his home?"

"That's the last place he remembers. Still haven't figured out how he was taken and the CSI's have been crawling over his place for the last couple of days."

Ansell shook his head. "Perp must have known the area well."

"He might have been using a local to assist him." Morgan said. "He did in Coos Bay."

"If it's the same guy," Coyle pointed out. "And I'll grant you, there's a lot of similarities but four years…that's a hellva gap."

"Most likely," Morgan said, "when there's a gap like this, it's because the UnSub was in jail on some other charge."

Coyle frowned but Ansell nodded and said, "might be worth checking recent releases."

"I'd like to talk to Noah." Morgan said.

"Kid's a real mess." Ansell replied. "Two cops from Coos Bay talked to him yesterday. I doubt he's up to another interview. Probably best to confer with them first. If you still need to talk to him after that, go right ahead. But give the kid a breather."

"Detective Lyons?" Morgan asked.

"Yeah. And Turner. I take it they handled Reid's case."

Morgan nodded.

Ansell's phone rang and brought the conversation to an abrupt end.

-o0o-

After a couple of hours, Morgan got up. He had read everything Ansell and Coyle had gathered so far – twice over and more if he'd deemed it necessary – and he could see a clear victimology. Noah was a genius, although not on Reid's level, and had graduated both high school and CalTech early. He'd even transferred out of the exclusive Andrews-Marcello University after completing courses in record time. And like Reid, he was quite a pretty boy under the surface geek.

Did the UnSub get off dominating smart kids to compensate for his own intellectual inadequacies? That theory didn't sit well against the obvious high level of organisation the UnSub displayed. This wasn't a man with a low IQ, quite the opposite in fact. Was he dominating them because they had been successful in schooling and he had not? A damaged and abused child was unlikely to do well academically no matter how smart they were. He missed the team, the back and forth of ideas. He needed to talk to the faculty at CalTech, but without a 'why' in the profile, he would be asking questions in the dark. Perhaps Lyons and Turner would provide a useful backup.

Morgan took his leave of Ansell and Coyle, who both lacked the natural indignation cops often showed to an FBI agent when they hovered over one of their cases. Maybe it was because they could relate to the desire to catch someone who had targeted one of their own.

Outside the sun was overly bright and Morgan slipped on his shades as he began walking down the steps. At the bottom, he turned to walk towards his rental and stopped.

Gideon.

The man was sitting on the curb and when he saw Morgan he got to his feet.

Morgan stared at his old friend. His shock has been so great that he hadn't really looked at his former colleague. Gideon was dressed casually, as always, but his face seemed far younger and more relaxed than Morgan had ever seen. Yet there was something guarded in eyes.

"We should talk." He said.

"You left." Morgan replied. "We didn't. That about covers it." And he walked past the man whose opinion of him had once meant more than any other person's.

"Does it?"

Morgan turned. "No." He didn't have time to waste for this. "You never said goodbye and you never called to say you were OK." But everything he had wanted to say to this man, all the anger that had festered over the years, was pouring forth and he just couldn't stop it. "We had to trust that you were still alive."

Gideon closed the gap between them, coming to stand in front of Morgan. "I explained in-"

"And _don't_ get me started on that letter you left Reid!" He snapped. "Did you know that's how his father left?"

Was that shame he saw in Gideon's eyes? Or veiled surprise? He couldn't read this man anymore.

"I wish there had been some other way."

"There were other ways!"

"No there wasn't."

"Gideon, you-" He stopped and put up his hands. He shook his head. "Man, I do _not_ have time for this." He pushed passed Gideon, forcing him to swerve or be bumped, a juvenile act he couldn't stop himself from doing.

"The answer is at CalTech!" Gideon called behind him.

Morgan stopped.

"I could help you find it."

His gut clenched but of course, it was impossible to deny the truth.

-o0o-

And Morgan held on to that truth through the short, silence walk up the block to a small diner. It kept him putting one foot in front of the other and kept the lid on the ugly black rage simmering in his chest. It helped him lay out Reid's files without flinching and to share the data on both cases that Garcia had loaded onto his Pad.

Over the next couple of hours and between sips of their surprisingly good coffees, Gideon made small comments that helped Morgan see the evidence in a new light. In many ways it felt so natural and organic, as if the years had simply been rolled back. He had, in many ways, forgotten just how _good_ Gideon was at seeing beyond the surface, at arriving at astute conclusions that would never occur to anyone else. It was a bitter thought that they would have found Reid's assailant years ago if Gideon had stayed.

The lid holding back that black and ugly monster in his gut tremored and Morgan made a fist, digging the nails of his right hand into his palm.

Gideon pointed at a sentence in Reid's unkempt hand and looked up. "Can you read that?"

"Rachel Kullen died of pneumonia on September 23 2009." Morgan told him. "She was Milo's mother."

A fond smile curled up the edges of Gideon's mouth. "He always did have terrible handwriting."

Morgan's fist uncoiled and he slapped his hand against the desk in frustration. He didn't understand why such an innocuous statement could plough through his barriers to the rage he was keeping in check. Was it the gentle insult Gideon no longer had the right as a friend to throw? Or the fondness in his eyes that the lost years made such a mockery of?

Gideon flinched at the sound.

"Damn it you haven't even asked if he's OK?!" Morgan raged and was distantly aware of the hush that fell over the busy diner at his raised voice. He gripped the corner of Reid's file. "He's practically here with us and you haven't asked how he is!" The anger was unstoppable. "Prentiss is dead, do you know that?" He could still feel her blood, warm and sticky, flowing as freely as the rage pouring out of him. "Hotch lost his wife. She was murdered by an UnSub who almost killed him too. Garcia nearly died on the steps to her apartment block. JJ was forced off the team. Did you know about any of that?"

Gideon's face betrayed no surprise. It was obvious he had known all along. But he did not rise to defend himself; he simply weathered the anger with the same ease and air of understanding that had made him such a good mentor.

It made Morgan even more furious and it was all he could do to keep from grabbing Gideon as he leant forward and demanded, "how the hell could you know about all that and stay away? Did you ever really care about any of us? Did you?"

The diner door was rather noisily, purposely, slammed shut.

Morgan looked over at the entrance, as did the other customers. The two men who had entered walked towards him and Gideon, both of them clearly concerned at the raised voices they'd walked in on. Turner looked as casual as always, but Lyons had cut his greying hair into a more sedate style and he wore a suit.

"Agent Morgan." Lyons said and held out his hand.

Morgan got up and shook the offered hand. "Detective Lyons." He replied in greeting, falling back onto formality because he didn't know how much of his outburst had been witnessed.

"Actually, it's Sargent now." Lyons had the grace to look a little embarrassed.

"Congratulations. You've earned it."

The smile fell off, "not yet." Lyons said. "Not until I find the son of a bitch who took Reid."

Morgan clapped him on the shoulder, grateful beyond words for the man's dedication over the years, even when the case had officially gone cold. His heart was still racing and the adrenaline rush from his anger was still singing in his veins but he could feel the hard comforting edge of his professionalism regaining control.

He took a deep breath and gestured for Lyons and Turner to take a seat before excusing himself to use the bathroom.

He found the restroom at the back, a single unisex room with a toilet and a sink. It was reasonably clean and after relieving himself and washing his hands, Morgan splashed some of the water from the cold tap onto his face. It was just the right side of icy.

He stared at his reflection in the cracked mirror and took a long breath. He closed his eyes and thought of the team back home, wondering what they doing right now. He could picture Hotch in the park with his son, Reid in a bookstore, Rossi writing at his computer, Garcia and Kevin at a restaurant… That was the real world.

He opened his eyes to see the crack running across his face, distorting his reflection like a funhouse mirror. Unreal.

There was a thumping on the door.

"Hey, buddy, ya gonna be long?"

Morgan quickly dried his face and opened the door. A large man all but shoved Morgan out of the way in his haste to get into the bathroom and the thin shred of humour that bubbled up as a result of the muffled but satisfied 'ahh…' that leaked through the door as he walked away proved a much needed balm to the confusing jangle of emotions inside him.

It lasted until he returned to the table to see all three men on their feet and preparing to depart. Gideon was gathering up Reid's files with familiar efficiency.

"I just had a call from Detective Ansell." Lyons told him. "They've made an arrest."

Morgan felt his stomach drop. "Who?"

"Matthew Baynton." The name meant nothing to Morgan. "He's one of the administrators at Cal Tech."

Gideon's eyes were dark and Morgan saw pain in them. "He's Reid's friend."

-end of part three-


	17. Cold Case: Part Four

**Pasadena Police Department, California**

Morgan stared through the one way glass at the man sitting in the interview room. He was around Morgan's age, tall and thin, and wore a rumpled beige shirt and brown trousers. He looked nervous, casting glances at the mirror as if he knew he was being watched.

Ansell and Coyle had yet to make an appearance in the interview room, following the standard practice of unnerving their suspect before beginning. Morgan's presence as observer was a professional courtesy, one that he had secretly enjoyed seeing denied to Gideon, but his gut ached to be in there asking the questions instead of being relegated to the back seat. The lack of control was frustrating, compounded by the fact that neither detective had been available to explain the reason for Matthew's arrest, and he was approaching this interview effectively blind.

The door opened in the interview room and both Coyle and Ansell entered.

The man reacted to their presence by getting to his feet. "I didn't hurt Noah!" Matthew blurted out.

Ansell ignored him and began laying photographs over the table. Morgan's view was obscured by the angle, but he could just about see the shots of Noah Layton's injuries.

Coyle smiled and put down a cardboard cup in front of Matthew, before taking a seat. "Sorry, it's coffee machine coffee." He said. "Do you need anything else? Water? Candy bar?"

Matthew didn't reply, sinking back into his chair. He was looking at the photos with a blend of horror and fascination. If it was an act, it was a damn good one. But Morgan had seen far too many Oscar worthy performances by UnSub's over the years to be easily swayed.

He looked up. "I didn't hurt Noah." He repeated.

Coyle nodded. "You like Noah," he said.

"Maybe a little too much." Ansell added. "What was it his boyfriend said?" He made a slightly exaggerated show of trying to remember. "You being around Noah was…?"

"Creepy." Coyle supplied. "I think 'paedophile creepy' was what he said."

"Mark is too possessive. He doesn't like Noah having other friends."

Morgan's phone rang and he felt a spark of hope when he saw the caller ID.

"Tell me got something for me, Baby Girl."

"OK, first of all, my home computer is pretty damn impressive but it isn't nearly as effective at this as the ones in my office, and secondly, I have to be, like super extra careful to hide my identity-"

"Do you have something for me or not?" He broke in. Then caught the anger in his voice and exhaled. He closed his eyes. "Sorry. It's just…"

"Hey, I know, OK?" She said softly. "It's OK…" He heard the understanding in her voice and loved her even more for it. In their brief conversation on the way into the PD, he had simply given her Matthew's name and a request for information. She knew nothing of his inability to move the investigation forward or of Gideon's reappearance and yet she still felt his frustration and forgave him. He heard her take a breath, "so…Matthew Baynton…36 years old, born in Las Vegas, Nevada."

Morgan frowned. "Did he attend the same schools as Reid?"

"No. I've searched Scout group records, Vegas dance and drama classes… There's nothing to suggest they met when Reid was a child. Probably the only way to find out is to ask him."

Morgan paused. "What else?"

"Matthew's birth certificate only lists his mother's name and she has a record of prostitution almost as long as Matthew's medical history which is…" she sighed, "_long_ - severe bruising, stress fractures… Social services finally intervened when he was 6 and he was bounced around a series of foster homes until he was 18. He had a number of menial jobs over the next few years – cleaning, waiting tables – until he won a scholarship to the College of Southern Nevada. On graduation he began working for their faculty until he transferred to Cal Tech 6 years ago."

Morgan frowned, "so he wouldn't have been working there when Reid was a student. Any priors?"

"The only violations on file are minor traffic offenses."

"There's a but, right?"

"But…" she paused, "I hacked his computer and found our mild mannered, badly driving, administrator spends a lot of his free time in gay chat rooms and he has an impressive collection of gay porn and most of it is pretty hard core."

A chill settled in the pit of Morgan's stomach. "How hard core?"

"Legal." She admitted.

Yelling from the interview room drew his attention. "Thanks, Baby Girl. Keep digging."

Morgan put away his phone and turned his attention to the three men in the interview room. Matthew was bent over the table, hands in his hair, almost hiding his face from Ansell, who stood leaning over him and trying to get into his face. Coyle merely watched from his seat.

"I was at home!" Matthew cried out. "At home, I swear!"

"No one saw you arrive, no one saw you leave."

"I live alone! You know that!" He bent even further down.

"Your neighbour said your house was dark when he got home at 9:30."

"I was just doing paperwork in my office at the back of the house. I have a full spectrum lamp there. I didn't turn the lights on because I wasn't using them!"

"Are you seriously expecting us to believe you spent the whole evening doing nothing but paperwork?"

"It's the truth!" He wailed and finally scuttled out of the chair and away from Ansell.

Coyle got up and put himself between his partner and Matthew, giving the latter a temporary shield and gaining gratitude that might prove useful in the future.

"Get us all some more coffee." Coyle told Ansell.

Ansell nodded once and exchanged a slight smile with his partner that Matthew didn't see.

-o0o-

Gideon sat in the department lounge; his head tipped back against the seat, eyes open and fixed on the spinning blades of the ceiling fan. Spread out over the coffee table in front of him was Reid's file. The meticulously researched contents were brilliant and it was like reading Spencer's work for the first time again. It wasn't that he had forgotten the breadth and depth of the young man's genius, but that the intervening years had dulled the gloss on the memories and rendered them ordinary.

And Spencer Reid had never been, would never be, ordinary.

The fan whooshed on its endless cycle, round and round, much like his thoughts. The only movements he made were the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed and of his right hand as he rolled his chess piece between his thumb and index finger.

-o0o-

Three coffees now sat steaming on the table and Ansell laid out a new photograph in front of Matthew. Morgan felt his stomach clench. It was a picture of Reid.

"Do you know this man?" Ansell demanded.

Matthew looked confused. "That's Spencer."

"Doctor Spencer Reid?"

"Yes. We've been friends for years." His voice sounded unsteady and confusion appeared on his face. It looked completely genuine. "What's this got to do with Spencer? Is he OK?"

"How would you describe your relationship with him?"

"I told you, we're friends." The note of anger that coloured his reply surprised Morgan.

"Good friends? Close friends?" Coyle asked.

"Intimate friends?" Ansell added, his tone sharp and cutting.

Matthew looked alarmed. "Close I guess."

"Just close?" In contrast to his partner, Coyle's questions were softly coaxing.

"Fuck buddy close?" Ansell sneered.

Morgan felt this stomach do a loop. No, they were merely unnerving Matthew and yet…

"That's none of your business!" Matthew snapped.

"Yes it is." Ansell replied and leaned forward. Despite his best efforts, Matthew shrunk back in his chair.

"You and Reid…" Coyle wanted to know. "Do you talk much?"

"Between fucks?" Ansell said.

"Can it, all right!" Coyle snapped at his partner, who sucked air in through his teeth in a show of annoyance before sitting back in his chair.

Morgan smiled at the act designed to encourage Matthew to think of Coyle as his defender and sure enough, the man relaxed visibly now that Ansell was out of his face.

"So you talk?" Coyle prompted.

"Yeah, I guess." He admitted. "Spencer talks a lot."

Morgan tensed at the utter familiarity he could hear in Matthew's voice. He tried to remember Reid mentioning this man but he could find nothing. But then, even off duty, the team's conversations drifted towards killers and profiles.

"What about the personal stuff?" Coyle asked.

"How do you mean?"

"Did he ever mention Coos Bay to you? His abduction?"

Matthew's eyes widened as he suddenly realised where the line of questioning was headed and slowly nodded. "Sometimes…I mean, he never…we…." He looked over at the mirror and Morgan had a strangest sensation that he was being watched in turn. "It was hard for him to talk about, you know?"

"But you know more than the basics?" Coyle asked. "You know details that only Spencer, the police and the medical staff would know?"

Silently he nodded his agreement.

Ansell sat forward. "If there was a person who turned me down and I knew what you knew about Spencer's case and I wanted them really really badly…" He trailed off.

Morgan felt a chill. Was that it?

Ansell's face was inches from Matthew's. He smiled nastily. "One free ride on the Noah-go-round." He said softly.

-o0o-

Mike Lyons let himself into the observation room. Agent Morgan was standing at the window; arms crossed, feet firmly planted, tension written in the solidity of his shoulders and the set of his jaw.

"Do you believe this?" He snapped, reacting to Lyons presence even though he had not turned his focus away from the interview room. "A copycat assault? Is that all they've got?"

Lyons weathered the anger. He understood Morgan's desperation for the two cases to be linked. It had been so long and with every passing year the likelihood that Reid's case would ever be solved decreased.

"Several of Noah's friends have corroborated Mark Raymond's story." He handed Morgan the evidence file he'd been reading. "And Noah confirms that Matthew had been pestering him to leave Mark."

"Matthew says that Mark is controlling."

Lyons tapped at one of the witness statements. "Friends admit he can get jealous. Mark admits he gets jealous. But controlling…?" Lyons frowned. "I didn't meet with anyone other than Noah so I can't give you my opinion there, but…" He shook his head, "…going by those statements, I wouldn't say Mark comes across as controlling."

Morgan's jaw clenched as he scanned thought the file. "And Reid?"

"Employer records show that Matthew was working at Cal Tech on May 11 2007." Lyons let that statement hang in the air for a moment and then continued, this time with a note of deep regret colouring his words. "If he _is_ Noah's abductor, then…the two cases aren't linked." Lyons followed Morgan's line of sight to the picture on the table. "And we're no closer than we ever were to finding out who assaulted Reid."

-o0o-

**Dacia Hotel, Pasadena**

Morgan stood under the shower, letting the sting of the hot water against his skin fill his mind, but maintaining that focus was difficult. Snatches of Matthew's interview intruded, images and sentences from the file floated out of his sub-conscious. All of Garcia's research had appeared on his Pad some hours ago, providing weight to the profile that his mind had already begun formulating. Matthew Baynton may have had a horrible history, but that didn't make him an UnSub and the evidence against him was circumstantial at best. There was no trace of Matthew's DNA on Noah or in his home or car. The arrest had been a few steps removed from a fishing trip and if Matthew had invoked his right to counsel, Ansell and Coyle wouldn't even have got that.

Gideon had gone, leaving only Reid's file, neatly closed, on the coffee table, when Morgan had taken his Pad into the department lounge to share the information with him. The abrupt departure played on his mind as well, a bitter reminder of years past, creating a log jam of disappointment in his chest, although what of Morgan wasn't entirely sure; disappointment in Gideon, for leaving again? Or in himself, for allowing it matter when he should have known better?

The water finally began to cool and with a sigh he stepped out of the shower and roughly dried himself off. After brushing his teeth, he got into bed, snagging the hotel phone as he did so.

Calling Hotch was not, in the strictest light, a good idea. It would place Hotch in an awkward position professionally if Morgan's presence in the Layton case became known.

But Morgan really needed to talk so he quashed his doubts and dialled.

After six rings, there was an answer. As soon as Hotch confirmed his caller, he stated calmly. "I'm aware of the arrest." There was necessary economy in his words.

"Matthew doesn't profile as sexual predator."

"Agreed." Hotch replied. "I think the best course of action is to focus on the profile. Matthew's already in custody. It doesn't do us any good to look at him as the UnSub."

There was a click as the line cut off.

Morgan put the phone back on the bedside table and turned off the light.

-o0o-

**Hotchner Residence, Virginia**

Hotch put down his phone and leaned back into the soft folds of his leather sofa. Across the glass coffee table, in an equally welcoming chair, David Rossi sat watching him, nursing a fine single malt.

"You've met Matthew Baynton?" He asked.

Rossi nodded in reply.

"What were your thoughts?"

Rossi paused a moment. "He's polite. Efficient too, runs those seminars like clockwork and I'd say he's well respected by the rest of the faculty." He took a small sip from his glass and frowned.

"But…?" Hotch prompted.

Rossi's frowned deepened, "there was…something about him…maybe the way he was with Reid…" He shook his head. "I can't explain it."

Hotch sat forward. "Predatory?"

Rossi didn't reply. "You realise," he said eventually, "we're going to have to talk to Reid?"

-o0o-

**17 April 2011**

**Layton Residence, Pasadena**

Noah Layton squinted at the ID that Morgan held up. A resigned little sigh escaped and he took the door off the latch to allow Morgan to enter. The kid's studio apartment was punishingly small, a square of floor space with a tiny kitchenette at one end and a spiral staircase leading to an overhang with a double bed on it.

Morgan scanned the room, comparing it with the details in his head of its untouched state after Noah's abduction.

"I thought you'd caught him." Noah said nervously.

"Detectives Ansell and Coyle are following a line of enquiry." Morgan said, the standard cop phrase coming with startling ease despite the years that had passed. "No charges have been made against Matthew Baynton."

Noah licked his lips. "But he…urgh…he did it, right?" He crossed his arms protectively around himself. "Mark said…"

"Like I said, it's a line of enquiry. One of many, all right?"

"Oh." Noah hugged himself even more.

"I'd like to ask you some questions-"

"Would you like some tea?" Noah interrupted. "Or-or coffee if you want. Instant though, I don't…have a machine." He hurried away before Morgan could reply.

Morgan followed, but kept a respectful distance. He knew, more than he would ever wish to, how difficult it was to have strangers skirting personal space when…

Noah had an old Chinese teapot and busied himself boiling the kettle and measuring out tealeaves. "I don't remember, you know?" He said. His back was to Morgan.

"I know."

"Do you know what it's like to _know_ what happened to you but not remember?" He asked. "To know what someone did to you and not know if you fought it? Let it happen?" The words snapped out on sharp panicked breaths. "Agree? Cry out?"

Morgan remembered Reid, sitting in the shelter of the old oak so long ago now. "I do understand some of what you're going through."

Noah finally looked over his shoulder at Morgan. Tears stained his cheeks. He swallowed and his lip trembled as if he was trying, and failing, to get words out.

Morgan patiently waited.

Finally Noah returned to his work. "Do you take sugar?" His words were soft but didn't waver.

The cup exchanged hands quickly, Noah snatching his fingers back before moving swiftly to the battered old sofa. Morgan took this as a cue to sit down in the threadbare chair directly opposite.

Noah took a deep breath, pressing his fingers around the tea cup. "What did you want to ask me?"

"You told Sargent Lyons that you've known Dr Reid for 2 years, did you socialise with him?"

Noah paused. "Dr Reid." He repeated. "No, he was…I don't really know him that well." He frowned at Morgan. The kid was a genius and Morgan could see him putting 2 and 2 together. "You work with him don't you?"

"Yes."

The boy looked down at the steam rising from his cup. A long silence passed. "Is he one of your lines of enquiry?"

It took Morgan a second to realise what the kid was asking. "What? No! He's… I'm just trying to get full picture."

"Those other detectives asked about him too." Noah told him. "If he's not…then the only reason you'd keep talking about him is…" His fingers turned white against the cup. "…is if this happened to him too."

Morgan looked at the bent head, remembering the fall of Reid's wet hair that fateful day when the walls the young man had built between himself and the pain and horror of what he'd been through had crumbled and their wake had laid waste to Morgan's own carefully constructed shields. He didn't reply but allowed his silence to answer for him.

"When?" Noah asked hopefully then looked away, clearly realising that he would never get a reply. He drew a shaky breath. "He's OK now, though?"

Morgan thought of the last few months, JJ's departure and Emily's death and the headaches that had plagued Reid, and found he didn't know whether his reply was truth or not. "He's better."

A fresh tear rolled down the boy's face.

The sound of the door as it was unlocked made Noah jump, eyes wide and afraid. He relaxed when he saw the man who entered.

Mark Raymond eyed Morgan with suspicion and outright hostility. "Who's this?" He demanded.

"Mark! Um, he's with the FBI."

Morgan stood and offered his hand. "Derek Morgan." He said.

Mark crossed to his boyfriend's side, ignoring the hand. Noah curled into the sofa, unconsciously shrinking from his lovers touch. Pain and anger and confusion flashed across Mark's face and Morgan's reaction turned to one of intense sympathy for them both.

"Noah's already spoken to you people." Mark snapped. "He doesn't remember anyway so what's the point of going over and over it?"

"I know this is difficult, for both of you, but I need-"

"You need? What about what Noah needs? Which is to be left alone!"

"Mark?"

Mark immediately sat down next to Noah, hand wavering in the air as if afraid to touch the young man and yet so obviously desperate to offer comfort.

"It's OK, I want to." He offered a broken smile. "It's not just for me anymore." He took Mark's hand in his. "I'm glad you're here with me."

Distrustfully, Mark looked over at Morgan.

Morgan sat down again and softly, gently began to question Noah.

It was a slow process. Matthew Baynton wasn't the only acquaintance he shared with Reid and the sheer number of Cal Tech faculty mentioned was disheartening.

Finally, Morgan called up one of the enhanced camera images of Milo Kullen taken from the Bay View surveillance years ago on his Pad and held it out. "Do you recognise this man?"

"No. I mean…I've seen his picture. Those detectives showed me. Lyons, I think." He frowned. "Who is he?"

"Milo Kullen."

Noah took the Pad, staring hard at the image. He shook his head. "I don't know him." His finger rubbed up and down the side of the Pad's leather cover. "Did this happen to him too?"

"No."

"Then why…?" Noah suddenly paled and his breathing hiked up. "This is…that's a camera image! Like, security footage? Did he…? Is he a…?" Noah dropped the Pad in horror. "Did he do this to me? To Reid?"

Mark reached from him, pulling him into his embrace and whispering that it was OK. After a while, Noah relaxed against his boyfriend's chest, silent tears tracking down his cheeks.

Mark looked over at Morgan. "You can go now."

Morgan picked up his Pad. "I'm sorry." He said. "Thank you for your help, Noah."

"You can let yourself out." Mark told him.

Morgan got up and walked towards the door. His distraction was such that he almost missed the object on the telephone table, a small photo frame that sent a flicker of recognition through him.

It captured Noah in his younger years, standing outside of a yellow bricked building, with a slim blonde woman of around 30 at his side. Too young to be the aunt that had raised him, his mother was dead, and he had no sisters… In the distance was the blurry shape of a man.

Morgan frowned, struck by the sensation that he recognised this woman but yet, equally certain he had never met her. After a glance over at the sofa, where Mark was soothing Noah, to ensure they were not watching, Morgan quickly got out his phone and snapped a picture of the image.

"I said," came Mark's voice, laced with growing anger, "you'd better go."

Morgan quickly palmed his phone out of view, opened the door and left.

-o0o-

A few minutes later, sitting in his car a half block from Noah's apartment, Morgan phoned Garcia.

"Garcia's Pyjama Emporium and the Fountain of All Comprehension. Ask and drink of my knowledge."

"I'm sending you a picture, Baby Girl, and I need you to ID the woman in it."

"If she has had her photograph on any file, at anytime, anywhere I will find it."

"There's some letters on the wall behind her. Might help narrow it down."

"M-A-R-C-E-L…"

"Marcello!" Morgan said as the letters tumbled through his head. "Andrews-Marcello. That's Noah's previous university."

"I'm cross referencing with their faculty records as we speak."

"There's also someone in the background. You think you can enhance the image?"

"A picture of a picture equals very poor quality but I'll see what I can do."

He could hear busy tapping on the end of the line and smiled. "Are you really in your PJ's?"

"You better believe it." The tapping didn't cease despite the tease in her voice. "Pink and fluffy with really…big… aha, found her."

"Don't leave me hanging like that, mama, really big…?"

"Her name is Dr Lucy Watkins. She was a professor at the Andrews-Marcello University between 1998 and...oh…"

"What?"

"She died of breast cancer in 2006."

"The university…" He frowned, something tugging at the back of his mind. "And Kullen…Kullen's file…" He groped open the glove compartment with his left hand and pulled out Reid's file. Placing it on his lap, he rifled through it seeking the one line he thought he'd skimmed over.

It wasn't there.

"Garcia, is there a reference to the Andrews-Marcello in Milo Kullen's background?"

A fierce flutter of keys followed. "Bingo. He studied there for a couple of years but never graduated." There was more tapping. "And I see where you going with this… Morgan, Reid's never been there. I'm looking at his student files as we speak."

"Neither have I, Baby Girl, but I know Lucy Watkins from somewhere."

Another clitter-clatter of keys and the sound of a stifled yawn greeted him. It reminded him how seriously Garcia took her Sunday mornings off and a wave of affection for her flooded him.

"I'm still waiting on the really big part." He smiled into the phone. "Big, pink fluffy…?"

"Bunny slippers." She finished quickly.

"I always knew you were a bunny girl, Garcia."

"Oh God…"

"Garcia?"

"The man in the background. I'm sending it to your Pad now." All life had drained from her voice. "I also found where you know Lucy Watkins from."

Morgan juggled with his phone and Pad, calling up the two images that Garcia had sent him and placing them side by side.

"Damn…" He whispered as he stared at images in front of him. The grainy enhancement from Noah's picture and…

The photograph he knew from fleeting glimpses down the years.

Lucy Watkins stood next to a young Spencer Reid and with them, gripping tightly and lovingly to Lucy's hand, was…

His heart lurched in his chest at the matching faces.

"Reid has this picture on his desk." Garcia said.

The final person in Reid's picture smiled out at Morgan, linking all the set pieces and players together.

It was Professor Kimball Rhodes.

-end of part four-

To the, oh, 3 people who were bludgeoned over the head and thrown out of the story by the atrocious pun: I am so, so sorry. I truly have no shame but it keeps apathy a bay.

Kudos to Melindaleo who first voiced her distrust of Rhodes way back in June!


	18. Cold Case: Part Five

**Vallejo Motel, Pasadena, California**

Gideon was gone.

Morgan stood outside the motel room and watched the cleaning staff strip down the room. He remembered the neatly placed file left for him to find and realised, now, the finality of that. If he hadn't been so caught up in the case…

But Gideon had never said a word. He almost certainly knew what Morgan would ask him if he had: come back with me, come _home_.

There would be no goodbye. Again.

It should not hurt as much as it did.

-o0o-

**Reid Residence, Washington, DC**

Hotch and Rossi stopped in front of Reid's door. A stereo could be heard faintly through the thick wood and it seemed as if the young man's musical tastes leaned towards easy listening piano tunes.

Hotch knocked on the door.

The piano tones faulted a moment as Reid's voice sung out, "just a minute," then continued on.

Hotch and Rossi exchanged a look. It wasn't a stereo. It was Reid.

Reid finally stopped playing and the door opened. He was dressed in baggy jogging bottoms and an even baggier T-Shirt and stared owlishly at them through his thick glasses.

"I thought you said you couldn't play, Reid." Rossi said.

A perplexed little frown creased the skin between Reid's eyebrows. "That was 2 months ago."

_Of course it was_, Rossi thought with a sigh.

"May we come in?" Hotch asked.

Reid looked hesitant then nodded, stepping aside to let them enter.

"I know we should have called first." Hotch said. "And I'm sorry to interrupt your day off but… we have a few questions we'd like to ask you and it can't wait until tomorrow."

Rossi glanced around Reid's small loft apartment, which he had never seen before. The low eves created an odd shape to the room and worked with the light coming in from the large skylight to cast interesting shadows in unexpected places. There was a surprising lack of books and those that he could see on the single wall dedicated to shelves were old and leather bound classics. Reid's mother, he remembered, was a professor in 15th Century literature and it was easy to profile the mix of love and guilt that the young man felt for Diana in the neatness and care of those old books. Of Reid, of the profession he had chosen, there was little evidence.

In the corner, was an upright Roland piano, loving made with the finest mahogany and probably at least seventy years old. Rossi ran his hand along the wood admiringly.

"That's a real beauty." He said.

Reid looked nervously from one to the other. "What did you want to ask me?"

"We should sit down." Hotch said.

The young man's face paled a little at that. "Is everyone OK?"

"Everyone's fine, Reid." Rossi said as he took a seat in a battered armchair without ceremony.

Reid followed suit, sitting down at one end of his sofa while Hotch took the other.

"Do you know a young man named Noah Layton?" Hotch asked, taking the lead. Rossi settled back in his chair and fixed his focus on the young man.

Reid frowned. "He's a student at Cal Tech."

"There's no easy way to say this…" Hotch told him. "He was kidnapped, drugged and sexually assaulted. The details of the case are remarkably similar to yours."

Reid went still.

"He has no recollection of the days he was missing." Hotch paused. "The investigation initially focused on Matthew Baynton-"

"Matthew!" Reid interrupted and shot to his feet.

Hotch indicated for him to sit. "Further enquiries, however, have indicated a possible link between yourself, Noah and…" the pause before Hotch spoke the name was tiny, almost unnoticeable, but it spoke volumes. "…Milo Kullen."

The angry tension in Reid's muscles vanished and his narrow shoulders slumped down.

"It appears you all knew the same woman, Lucy Watkins, and by extension her fiancé, Kimball Rhodes." Hotch said.

"Professor Watkins is dead." Reid replied, his voice hollow. "And I haven't seen Professor Rhodes in 21 mon…" he swallowed, "…in nearly two years."

"You knew them both well?"

"Yes but…" A flicker of confusion crossed Reid's face, as if he hadn't looked at that way before. "…Not at the same time."

Interested, Rossi sat forward, "how do you mean?" The picture from Reid's desk, snipped from an Everade University publication, suggested otherwise.

"Professor Watkins lectured at Cal Tech for one semester." Reid said. "I didn't meet Professor Rhodes until I was at the Academy."

"What year was she at Cal Tech?" Hotch asked.

"1998."

Rossi frowned. "How old were you?"

"Seventeen." Reid told him, as if the answer was perfectly normal.

"I'm sorry, but I do have to ask this;" Hotch began, "did her relationship with you ever overstep the boundaries of a normal teacher-student association?"

Reid looked alarmed. "No!" He cried. "She helped with my second dissertation and-" He stopped abruptly and looked away.

"And-?" Hotch prompted, when it became obvious that Reid was not going to finish.

"And that was all." Reid replied.

Hotch's eyes flickered to Rossi's but, for the moment, he let the matter drop. "And Professor Rhodes you met at the Academy?"

"He was a regular guest lecturer and…" Reid drew a breath. "Lucy- … Professor Watkins… had been diagnosed with cancer and…he thought I should know. I visited her with him."

"You became friends?" Rossi asked.

"After her death," Reid replied. "He liked talking about her."

"And you listened?"

"Yeah."

"Reid," Hotch said, "is there anything else we need to know?"

The young man shook his head.

"This case now falls under federal jurisdiction." Rossi said. "Strauss is unlikely to involve us but…"

"You should prepare yourself to go over the details with agents you know professionally." Hotch finished.

-o0o-

**Pasadena Police Department, California**

Ansell looked down at the Pad that Morgan had given him. There was an intense frown on his face as he absorbed the pictures. "Damn…" He muttered to himself. He looked over at Coyle. "It's just gone federal."

Coyle tossed his pen down on his desk and swore.

Ansell offered Morgan a weak smile. "No offense."

Morgan took back his Pad. "None taken."

-o0o-

**Washington, DC**

Rossi stood on the pavement outside of Reid's apartment block and looked over the roof of the dark blue BMW at Hotch as he opened the driver's door.

"He was holding something back." He said.

"I know." Hotch replied and slipped elegantly behind the wheel.

Rossi settled into the passenger seat.

"If it's important to the investigation, we have to trust that Reid will tell us." Hotch told him.

"And if he doesn't?"

Hotch turned the key and the BMW hummed to life. He didn't reply.

-o0o-

**Beltway Clean Cops, Washington, DC**

The row of faces, some familiar, some not, stared back at Spencer.

"I…er…I haven't been here as much as… as I probably should, actually. It's been…" he looked down and tried to swallow away the tightness in his throat. "It's been difficult these last few months, I…um… _we_ lost a colleague…a friend and…" He took a deep breath. He had to admit this. "For the first time in so long I'm…craving. I want… I want to do it. I want to forget."

Across the sea of faces, he saw the several nods of understanding.

"I've been…talking to a friend but…" He thought of JJ, endlessly patient with him as he cried, so strong in her own grief. He sometimes felt like such a bad friend, overloading her with his pain and never listening to hers. "But she…er… she doesn't know that the reason I'm at her house is so I can't…" He drew in another breath, "so I won't go out and buy Dilaudid because I know, the moment it's in my hands I'll let go."

He looked down, not wanting to see recrimination in their eyes at his confession, even though he knew he never would. No-one in this room was here to judge.

"I probably… I _know_ I should have come here as well but…um…" He felt tears threaten and pressed the nails of right hand into his palm to distract him. "It was too much."

He let the admission hang in the air as he calmed. The pain helped.

"So, er, why now..? There's, um…something I haven't talked about here before. Something that happened to me 4 years ago." Reid uncurled his right hand to study his bloodied nails and the bleeding half-moon puncture marks on his palm. His mind flashed on the photographs of his assault. This very hand being used to… He balled his hand into a fist and buried it in his pockets. "I was…" He began, looking up at the rows of cops who each had their own terrible confessions to make and would not berate him for his. "I don't really remember but…um…I…I was…I'm sorry, I can't." He finally said, putting his head down and beginning, quickly, for his seat.

"Spencer?"

He stopped.

The session leader – Spencer knew him only by his first name, Steve – came up to him. "You don't have to share that, if you're not ready yet. We understand how hard it is."

There was a soft chorus of agreement.

"But I think you wanted to talk about the reasons why you came today. I think it's important that you do."

Spencer looked at his seat. No-one would stop him from sitting down, nor judge him for it if he did. Only himself.

Steve smiled understandingly. "If you want to sit down, that's your choice, but it really sounded like you needed to say something and we're here to support each other."

After a moment, Spencer nodded.

Steve squeezed his arm and returned to his seat. Spencer walked the few steps back to stand, once again, in front of the group.

There was a soft ripple of gentle clapping as the group applauded his courage.

"I thought," he began, "that it was…all in the past but earlier today I was told…it happened to someone else. To someone I know and… they've arrested my…friend and Ho…and my boss_…" Noah. Matthew. Lucy. Professor Rhodes. Milo_. The names all swirled in his head and it just wouldn't stop. "He asked about…"_ Lucy… _There was flashing snake of zigzag lines suddenly distorting the centre of his vision and he knew it wouldn't be long before the intense pain began. "And I just want to let it all go…"

-o0o-

At the back of the room, the man known here only as John watched the young man bravely return to speaking in front of the group, an inner courage and strength that his small frame belied. He had come to know and care about Spencer, both personally and professionally. He owed him so much.

And now, finally, he could repay the debt.

-o0o-

**Morgan:**

"_Mistakes are… the foundations of truth, and if a man does not know what a thing is, it is at least an increase in knowledge if he knows what it is not._

Carl Jung."

The darkness flew passed outside. Around him, on the darkened jet, people shuffled nosily in their seats in an attempt to catch some sleep, trying to ignore the chill of the recycled air, the annoying flickering of lights from various entertainment devices and the constant whine of the engines.

Morgan could not join them in their attempt at sleep, despite the heavy weight of tiredness pressing down on him and his thoughts drifted, darkly, like the blackened clouds beyond the glass.

Turner and Lyons… The brief goodbye outside the Pasadena PD on Saturday evening, Turner's badly disguised impatience to get home and Lyons quiet disappointment that nothing had come of their investigations.

Morgan turned their words over and over in his head, unable to throw off the paranoia that was telling him that they had been granted the goodbye that Gideon had denied him.

Ansell and Coyle... Good cops, who had welcomed him and had listened to the profile that he had built up from the details taken from Noah's file; details that had led them to Matthew Baynton.

Matthew… The young man was still being held pending further questioning about his relationship with Noah and Reid, only now they would be conducted by FBI agents continuing the work began by Ansell and Coyle. He had asked, only once, to talk to Reid. His request had been declined. Morgan had been relieved by that_. _

Noah… Morgan remembered him crying in his boyfriend's arms, as Reid had once cried in Morgan's, utterly shattered by an assault he could not remember.

Gideon… The former profiler had sat in the worn diner seat and poured over the details of Noah's abduction on Morgan's Pad that his status as a civilian had denied him. "_There are differences." _Gideon had said. _"They are marked and should not be ignored." _

Morgan remembered his own determination to do exactly that, recognising it now for the desperation that it was_. "All that tells us is that he learned from Milo's mistakes."_

_"Enough to go off script and operate alone?"_

_"There's no damned script, Gideon, there was only Reid."_

Only Reid…

And so, finally, Morgan's thoughts focused, sleepily, on Reid…young, brilliant Reid…

_"We're never going to catch him, are we?" _

_"Reid, we're gonna find this bastard and we are going to put him away. I promise you that."_

…until Morgan slept.

-o0o-

**18****th**** April 2011**

**Behavioural Analysis Unit, Quantico, Virginia**

Strauss eyed her superior, jaw clenched tight at the request that she did not have to authority to refuse, or to question. And she badly wanted to question why a man of his rank would be interested in an assault case.

"I will have the team give you the profile."

"Thank you." John said.


	19. Promises to Keep: Part One

**18****th**** April 2011**

**J. Edgar Hoover Building, Washington DC**

**22:56**

The balcony looked out over the capital which stretched out as far as the eye could see; an ocean of tiny lights. Above the dark shapes that made out the buildings, Morgan could see the glow of light pollution hovering over the city, blotting out all but the very brightest of the stars.

He shivered. A cruel wind came off the Atlantic, promising a bitterly cold spring night.

He walked towards the far end, where the balcony's only other occupant stood.

"Kid, you must be freezing out here."

Reid didn't move. He wasn't even shivering despite wearing only a thin dark blue shirt and trousers.

Morgan came to stand at his side, seeing the young man only in profile.

"Reid?"

"Roses are red," the young man murmured, "violets are blue…"

"Kid, you're going to have to tell me about Lucy, you realise that?"

-o0o-

**Rossi:**

"Andre Malraux wrote:

_Man is not what he thinks he is; he is what he hides."_

**18****th**** April 2011**

**Behavioural Analysis Unit, Quantico, Virginia**

**08:22**

Reid sat at his desk, hand cupped against his forehead to shield his eyes from the brightness of the overhead lights. The intense throbbing behind his left eye had persisted through the night, leaving him tired and unfocused. And he desperately needed to focus right now.

He looked up at the door of the round table room.

Behind that thin block of polished wood, Hotch and the rest of the team were giving a profile.

_The_ profile…

-o0o-

The three FBI agents sat pin straight in their chairs and all wore expressions of detached interest. Hotch had measured each with his eyes when they entered. John Holloway he knew was a good man, a good leader, Agent Lisa Lowe had a reputation as a callous bitch, but Hotch quickly realised she was simply very, very good at compartmentalising, and finally, David Hanson, whose presence radiated warmth and understanding. He was probably very good with grieving families.

Hotch had not yet been able to de-brief Morgan about his "visit to his mother" and had been unprepared for Strauss to appear, as soon as he arrived at his office that morning, with Deputy Assistant Director Holloway at her side. He had tensed, briefly, wondering if he was to get a dressing down about Morgan's involvement with the Pasadena PD, but his fears were unfounded.

Instead, now that the case was federal, it had been handed to Lowe and Manson to investigate and Holloway had taken the unusual step of overseeing it. And to do that, they wanted the profile.

"We believe this UnSub to be a white male, probably between the ages of 30 and 45. He's intelligent and organised," Hotch began, "his friends, family and co-workers will be very surprised by his arrest."

"While he probably fantasised about dominating younger men for years, he almost certainly didn't act on them." Rossi continued. "But something happened in his life, probably sometime early in 2007 – a stressor – made him act on his urges."

"Reid was probably his first victim." Morgan said. "We know that because, despite his level of organisation, he made mistakes."

"He had enough medical knowledge to correctly dose his victims with flunitrazepam, leaving them weak and unable to either resist or to remember," Rossi continued, "but he was unprepared for the consequences, such as dehydration."

"And he relied on a younger, less organised partner." Morgan added.

"Milo Kullen." Hotch brought up Kullen's picture on the screen. "A power assertive sex offender who filmed his assault on Reid so he could relive the experience."

"We believe the second UnSub killed him and buried his body shortly before or after releasing Reid." Morgan told them.

Lisa frowned and moved the pages of the file on the table. She looked up. "Because his body was found in close proximity to the place where Reid was released?"

"Yes." Hotch replied.

She studied the ME report. "Cause of death was a single gunshot wound to the back of the neck." She read. "Why would he kill his partner?"

"To silence him." Rossi replied.

"We know that Milo's car was searched but by whom we can only speculate." Hotch continued. "However, we believe it was the second UnSub."

"We know that Kullen's cell phone had been purposely hidden in the car." Rossi explained. "It was not discovered until the crime scene investigators found it. It's likely that it was UnSub trying to recover what he knew was valuable evidence."

"Milo made mistakes." Morgan clarified. "He left DNA on Reid's body and clothes and he was compelled to photograph the experience."

"But the UnSub learned from them." Hotch said. "His abduction of Noah Layton was swift and carefully executed. He was confident enough to dispose of him by leaving him, not in woods as he did with Reid, but on the roadside where there was a higher risk of being seen."

"He shows no desire to kill his victims," Rossi continued, "but the manner in which he disposes of them tells us that he doesn't care if they live or die."

"He's taken what he wants for them." Morgan said. "From that point on, they are nothing to him."

"He knows his victims, yet shows no remorse." Rossi said.

"But he will not appear cold or unfeeling when you interview him." Morgan continued. "Like the majority of people scoring on the PCL-R scale, he's learned to cover himself."

"And he's evolving." Rossi added.

"The level of force used against Noah was greater and prolonged." Morgan said.

"He's beginning to enjoy it." Hotch said. "And next time, we believe he will kill."

-o0o-

Beside Reid's leg, the bottom drawer of his desk was still out, gapping in accusation. He had opened it as soon as he had arrived so he could use his nasal spray. And in the process he had discovered that a file was gone.

Milo Kullen's file.

Reid knew who had taken it. And he both knew and understood why.

But Morgan's actions cut deep, like betrayal, all the same.

-o0o-

**09:21**

John Holloway watched Lowe and Manson gather the files together, carefully putting the evidence photos taken from Kullen's phone into order. Terrible pictures of Spencer's suffering that had yielded only a single clue: an image of the UnSub's medallion.

He was aware of Agent Hotchner's eyes on him. The man's intense focus was both impressive and disconcerting.

"You're surprised," John began, turning to his observer, "by my presence in this investigation."

"You have the authority to oversee any case you wish." Hotchner replied; a nice standard sound bite that gave nothing away.

John gave a mirthless smile. "That's not what I asked."

"I knew that my team would not be assigned this case."

"But?"

"I had hoped that I would have an existing working relationship with the FBI agents who were."

_Influence_, John realised. Hotchner had hoped for agents he could influence.

John smiled and offered back a sound bite. "My agents will, of course, welcome any assistance you can offer."

Whatever Hotchner would have said next was lost to interruption.

"Sir?"

John turned towards the speaker. Spencer stood in the doorway, looking pale and tired.

"Dr Reid. Please, take a seat." He said before turning back to the man at his side. "May we use this room, Agent Hotchner?"

Hotchner nodded; one brief decisive dip of his head. "Of course." He said and began to leave. He paused once in the doorway to lay a hand against Reid's elbow and say something softly to him. Whatever it was, the young man responded to it with a nod.

Then Hotchner closed the door behind him.

-o0o-

**09:29**

Hotch looked up as Morgan entered his office. The young man too had been caught off-guard by the speed of the FBI's involvement and it was easy to read the frustration he felt in the set of his shoulders.

"I know we need to discuss your leave," he said as Morgan closed the door behind him, "but now is not the time."

"Hotch-"

"Right now, we have other work to focus on. If Holloway and his team need us, they will ask."

-o0o-

**09:40**

The questions were finally over with and Reid sat back in his chair. Lowe and Manson got up, thanked him with automatic politeness then left the room.

He heard John moving behind him but didn't look at up his friend until something was pushed towards him.

It was a cup. The thick alluring scent of black, black coffee rose up.

"I'm trying to avoid caffeine." He said softly. "I've, um, been having these headaches…" He drew himself up, retreating in the comfort of knowledge. "Caffeine has long been associated with the triggering of migraines and other types of headaches although some recent studies have suggested that because it can block the Adenosine receptors in brain cells it could actually be useful in both relieving pain and preventing migraines."

John smiled affectionately. "Just drink it, Spencer."

He swallowed it down, gagging at the tell-tale after burn heat as it went down. The alcohol hit his empty stomach like a brick and he looked up.

"Just because I can no longer drink it doesn't mean I can't dish it out." John said.

"And it's better than Dilaudid." Reid finished and took another gulp. This time, because it was expected, the sensation of warmth was comforting.

John reached out and squeezed his shoulder. "Yeah."

-o0o-

**09:44**

Morgan drummed his thumb impatiently against the long space bar of his keyboard, making it click. While he understood the agents needed to do the groundwork, it was frustrating to know that the key to the investigation – Kimball Rhodes – had yet to be questioned. Everade University was a couple of hours drive away and it was all he could do not to just grab his car keys and go.

He looked up at the door to the BAU room. How long was Reid's interview going to take when the kid remembered so little?

The door opened and both Lowe and Manson filed out. A few minutes passed before they were followed by Deputy Assistant Director Holloway.

Morgan got up and approached his superior. "Sir?"

Holloway stopped.

"Agent Morgan." He said, holding out a hand. "Derek Morgan."

"Agent." The man said, taking a firm grip and return the greeting.

"I'd like to put myself forward as liaison." Morgan said. "I know this case inside and out and I have a good working relationship with the officer's at the Coos Bay Police Department."

"You are also personally involved."

"I know Reid is my friend, but I won't allow that to cloud my judgement."

Holloway considered for a moment. "That's easy said than done, agent."

"Sir, I know it will be difficult, I'm not denying that, but I can do this."

John Holloway studied Morgan and he met the gaze unflinchingly. Then saw something unexpected in the other man's eyes when his line of sight shifted to over Morgan's shoulder.

In the periphery of his vision, he saw what had caught Holloway's attention. Reid has slipped quietly out of the round table room, head down, and making his way swiftly towards the bathroom.

It was quickly hidden, but it had definitely been there: genuine concern and empathy.

For Reid.

And it ran deep, he realised.

"Please let me help you." Morgan said and took a gamble, but not, he hoped, a reckless one. He spoke to the person he'd seen in those eyes and not to his superior, made an appeal to someone who cared for Reid. "I promised Reid that I would find the man who did this."

Holloway focused on Morgan for a long moment and then he nodded. "If agents Strauss and Hotchner agree to your assignment..."

"Thank you."

"Don't," he said, "make me regret it."

-o0o-

**10:03**

Rossi watched the two FBI agents. Lowe was tall and willowy and her features promised a softness that her personality didn't deliver. Manson was smaller, stocky and obviously prone to putting on weight around his middle. He knew them only by reputation. Every word spoken about them marked them as two of the HQ's best agents and watching them work, it was easy to see why.

But it was Reid he focused on the most, concerned for the young man who was having his worst nightmare dragged up from wherever he had hidden it and given new life. The young man had quietly returned to his desk about ten minutes earlier, looking paler than when he first arrived and studiously ignoring the presence of the agents who had questioned him. Reid had then spent those minutes watching Morgan, who was preparing to leave with Lowe and Manson, and looking away whenever Morgan glanced his way.

Finally, when Morgan returned to his desk to get his jacket, Reid got up and approached him. It wasn't often that Reid got angry, but it was almost radiating off him in waves and Morgan frowned at him in concern.

"You have my file." Reid demanded and held out his hand.

Rossi couldn't fail to notice the guilt that immediately crossed Morgan's face. "Look, Kid, I'm real-"

"I want it back."

"I know I should have asked, but I didn't want to upset you." He told him as he pulled the file from his top drawer. "You've been through enough."

Reid didn't answer, flicking through his work without looking up. "There's a page missing."

"It has to be there somewhere."

"It's not."

"I kept it all together."

Reid returned to his desk.

"Reid, I'm sorry."

The young man ignored him, looking from one page of his file to the next, lips silently moving on the last line of one page and then on the first line of the next. He paused. Then he placed his fingers on his keyboard and began typing, face completely blank and eyes looking at nothing.

Rossi came up behind him and watched the words spill out across the screen. He suddenly realised why there were so few books at Reid's home. He didn't need them. It was all in his head.

Reid quickly finished, pressed print and then collected his new page. He slotted it in before going over to hand the file to Lowe.

"Excuse me." He said, cutting off any question she might ask.

Morgan watched him go.

"Reid!" He called after him then looked over at Rossi. "Dammit." He said. "He hates me."

"You did what you had too." Rossi told him. "He knows that. Give him time. He's got a lot to deal with."

-o0o-

**Route 95, Virginia**

**11:13**

Morgan sat in the back of the SUV behind Lowe, who was in the passenger seat, and Manson, who was at the wheel. His stomach churned uncomfortably, questioning his course of action, questioning all his actions these last few days. But it was too late now.

He had not had a chance to say goodbye to Reid, but their eyes had met across the crowded bullpen.

Morgan had held up a fist clenched in brotherhood, signalling his support without words.

Reid had not smiled back.

-o0o-

**Everade University, Richmond, Virginia **

**12:17**

Kimball Rhodes closed the door of his office and went to sit behind his desk. He looked little changed from the last time that Morgan had seen him at a lecture at the Academy.

"Please, take a seat." Rhodes said, gesturing to the two empty chairs. Both Lowe and Manson sat, Morgan remained standing.

"I'm not sure what I can help you with." The professor said.

"We'd like to ask you some questions about your relationships with 2 students: Spencer Reid and Noah Layton." Lowe told him.

"Spencer was enrolled in the weekend programme some years ago but Noah was never my student, although I do believe he sat in on some of my lectures. Criminal phycology interested him." Rhodes said.

"He was a student of Professor Watkins?" Lowe asked. "At the Andrews-Marcello University?"

"Yes." He replied. "Yes, I believe so."

"She also taught another student, Milo Kullen."

"Possibly. You would have to consult the records at the Andrews-Marcello." He smiled pleasantly. "Lucy and I rarely discussed our students outside of work."

"But she was close to her students?"

"She was fond of them, yes."

"As fond of them as she was of you?" Lowe said with typical directness.

The smile fell away. "I hardly think so. Lucy and I were engaged."

"Both Reid and Layton kept pictures of your fiancé, did you know that?" Morgan asked.

"I…never thought of it," Rhodes replied, "but I suppose it's possible."

Manson leaned forward. "I don't keep pictures of my teachers." He said. "And if I did, they'd be pinned on a dart board." He looked up at Lowe. "Do you?"

The woman shook her head. "No."

He looked up at Morgan. "You?"

Morgan tensed.

_Carl…_ He thought and his gut clenched hard. Was Reid hiding something similar in his past?

"No."

"Did their relationship make you jealous?" Lowe asked.

"Relationship!" He spat out. "They were her students! They were _boys!_"

"Yes. Yes they were, Professor Rhodes." Morgan leaned over the desk. "So I will ask you again: did her relationship with them make you jealous?"

"Of course not!" He yelled getting to his feet. "Get out! I will not answer any more of these disgusting questions!"

"Professor, we are investigating two serious assaults and a murder. If you will not answer our questions now, we will arrest you." Lowe said. "You do not want that."

-o0o-

**Layton Residence, Pasadena, California**

**13:08**

Mark Raymond opened the door. The middle aged man on the doorstep held out his ID.

"My name is Michael Jones. I'm with the FBI. Are you Noah Layton?"

"No. He's…he's inside."

"I'd like to talk to him, if I may."

"No. He's answered enough questions. He doesn't know anything!" Mark's voice was full of frustration and anger. "He can't remember and all this does is hurt him more, please-"

"It's OK." Noah voice came from behind him. "I'll talk to him."

"Noah Layton?" Agent Jones asked.

Noah nodded.

"I'd like to ask you some questions about your relationship with Professor Lucy Watkins and her fiancé Kimball Rhodes."

-o0o-

**13:32**

"I didn't know either Spencer or Noah had her picture." Rhodes said. He looked defeated now, like the grieving fiancé he was, sitting back in his chair as if it were the only thing keeping him upright.

"But it doesn't surprise you?" Manson asked.

"No…Yes…Perhaps." He sighed. "Lucy enjoyed mothering the younger students. Noah had lost his parents when he was quite young and Spencer… I know now that his mother was unstable."

"So she took care of them?" Morgan asked.

Rhodes nodded. "I believe they were both still teenagers then."

Lowe sat forward. "Did that ever make you uncomfortable?"

"What?"

"Did the fact that a woman of Professor Watkins standing 'mothered' her younger and more emotionally vulnerable students every make you uncomfortable?" Lowe repeated. "Because right now, what you're saying, is sure making me uncomfortable."

Rhodes laughed bitterly. "Lucy is dead. What does it matter now?"

"It matters a great deal, Mr Rhodes." Manson said. "So it _did _make you uncomfortable."

"What about angry?" Lowe asked, giving the professor no time to reply. "Did it make you angry that she was so close to them when she should have been that way with you?"

"Did you feel betrayed?" Manson pushed.

Rhodes hit the desk with his fist and swore. The three agents tensed, ready for any move that Rhodes might make. But he calmed remarkably quickly and said, carefully. "No. it did not make angry, or uncomfortable, or betrayed or any other disgusting inference you can come up with. Lucy was a good a woman who cared about her students above and beyond what was expected of her. She put them first and herself second, put them before the only thing she's ever wanted, and now she's dead and-" He snapped off.

Lowe seized on his words. "'Above and beyond.'" She repeated. "Is that a euphemism for 'sleeping with her students'?"

Rhodes rounded on her with such venom that Manson shot to his feet ready to tackle the man if he attacked. Rhodes' hands smacked against his desk as he leaned forward right into her face.

"You filthy bitch!"

Light from the window flashed on something shiny as Rhodes moved, drawing Morgan's eye.

A necklace had slipped free of Rhodes' collar and its pendant glittered in the sunbeam streaming in through the window.

It was a medallion.

_As I'm off work this week, there might even be an update at the weekend. :)_


	20. Promises to Keep: Part Two

Morgan stared at the medallion, so similar to the one in the pictures from Kullen's cell phone. "Nice pendant." He said; his words were in stark contrast to the rage of Rhodes' outburst.

The professor started visibly. He tried to be casual about pushing it back into his shirt.

"I've seen one like that before." Morgan told him. "In a picture that Milo Kullen took."

"So?" Rhodes said, straightening up and sitting back down as if he had never lost his temper. "No doubt there are hundreds in the world, thousands."

Lowe leaned forward. "The engraving was quite distinctive."

"And I'm willing to bet that matches." Morgan said and reached for his cuffs. He looked Rhodes in the eye. "I always keep my promises."

Rhodes smiled back and every trace of the grieving professor was gone. Now there was only triumph. "So do I." He replied.

-o0o-

**Central Medical Centre, Florence, Oregon.**

David Price sat in the doctor's office. He had his head turned towards the consultant in font of him but his eyes were focused just behind him, at the window to the outside world. Through the glass, he could see birds flying, tiny dots against the clear blue sky, and the tops of the trees that surrounded the hospital grounds.

The doctor's voice droned on the background, explaining that he had cirrhosis of the liver. The words being spoken meant nothing.

"You're dying." The man finally admitted, oblivious to his patient's disinterest.

It surprised Price then that he could still feel fear.

-o0o-

**BAU, Quantico, Virginia**

**14:34**

Reid sat in Hotch's office. He had listened in complete silence to the news that Professor Rhodes had been arrested for his assault with his head bent down and his hands clasped in his lap.

It didn't feel real.

"Reid?"

He looked up at Hotch and caught the naked look of deep concern that appeared the moment he saw Spencer's face.

"I can't imagine how difficult this must be for you right now."

He bent his head again, clenching his jaw and trying to swallow away the tight knot tugging at the back of his throat.

"Reid?"

He wanted to ask about Matthew, about Noah and demand to know what Morgan had been doing these last few days, raking through his life as if he meant nothing – absolutely nothing – to him.

But he found he couldn't say anything. There were no words.

The unexpected feel of a hand against his shoulder made him flinch away. "I'm sorry." Hotch immediately said.

He heard shuffling and Reid raised his head, just a little.

Hotch had knelt beside his chair.

"Spencer?"

He didn't know why the sound of his own name could break the log jam when nothing else could, but it did and he shuddered as a small sob finally broke free.

And this time, when the hand offered comfort, he didn't pull away.

-o0o-

**14:54**

Reid dried his face and hands in the rough paper towels from the dispenser and caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. His pale face stared back at him, red blotches around his eyes and nose bright against the milk tones of his skin.

He heard the bathroom door open and looked round, expecting to see Hotch and surprised to find Garcia standing there. Behind her was another agent, who bumped into her and glared at the back of her head for blocking his entrance. She did a 180 turn on the spot and, despite only coming up to the agent's nostrils even in her heels, glared back until the man visibly wilted in her presence.

"Try the next floor!" She said brightly, giving him a push back. "This loo is occupied." And she closed the door on his face.

Reid couldn't help smiling.

"That's better." She said as she came over. She searched his face and her head tilted and shoulders slumped in concern as the smile faded from Reid's face. "How are you holding up?"

"Oh, I'm good." He said. "There's probably not a single agent left in the FBI that _doesn't_ know what happened to me and it turns out that someone I trusted did it and-"

"Reid, no one has ever thought any less of you because of what happened." She told him. "That's not how it works. You know that."

He looked down.

"Hey, you know that, right?"

He nodded.

"Right." She said firmly.

He wondered if Hotch had sent her to check on him or if she'd seen him leave Hotch's office in a hurry and all but throw himself into the bathroom. She certainly hadn't made the mistake that he once had.

The memory brought a faint smile to his lips. "This feels familiar."

She smiled, "yeah." She looked him in the eyes, having to dip a little to do so because he was avoiding her gaze. "Reid, this is good news." She reminded him. "It's nearly over."

Good news…

Over…

It still wasn't real.

"Morgan called me. They're taking Rhodes into DC for questioning. He's going to try to access his computer before it seized." She told him. "He could really use our help." She drew herself up to her full height before reaching out and straightening Reid's tie. "So, we're going to walk out of here and go into my office and go help our team, OK?"

She slipped her arm into his and waited for him to lead her out.

-o0o-

**Everade University, Virginia**

**15.25**

Lisa Lowe leaned over Morgan's shoulder as he sat at the computer screen, her body so close to his that he could feel the heat from her skin and was surrounded by the expensive scent of patchouli and white musk. She had made no secret of her attraction to him and he resented her for her callous attitude towards the case.

"I take it that's a 'three strikes and you're out' deal?" She said, frowning at the password box sitting in the centre of the screen.

Morgan had already confirmed that presence of a Doomsday programme that would wipe the hard drive if three wrong passwords were entered consecutively. "Yeah."

Rhodes was either had something to hide or he was the world's most paranoid researcher.

"Well you're the profiler," Lowe said and she perched on the edge of the desk and crossed her legs. "Profile us up the password."

Morgan cast his gaze around the office, taking in the books that filled the cabinets on the walls, the framed certificates, the African tribal art dotted around. There was a bust of Anubis on his filing cabinet next to a picture of Lucy Watkins. Morgan shuddered at the thought that had been intentional.

He looked out the window at the University grounds, well-tended lawns, litter-free white stone walkways, neat shrubbery and a whole host of spring flowers just coming into full bloom. And the whole campus appeared to be surrounded by tall, beautiful redwoods.

It gave him nothing.

Morgan turned his attention to the desk, focusing on the framed picture of Rhodes and Lucy. The photo was black and white and obviously posed for in a studio.

Morgan sat forward and tapped LUCY into the box.

He frowned. No, that image looked…too perfect. Like the sentiments weren't real.

He quickly deleted the word.

"Damn." He got out his phone, scrolled down the appropriate name and without hesitation, pressed call. "Reid, its Morgan."

-o0o-

**BAU, Quantico, Virginia**

**15:46**

Standing in Garcia's office, Reid listened to Morgan. Despite the lingering anger he felt towards his friend, the urgency of work helped focus his thoughts away from the confusing jumble of feelings warring for supremacy inside him.

"I'm all out of ideas, kid."

Reid put Morgan on speakerphone and placed the cell next to Garcia's keyboard. He frowned as years of conversations with Rhodes, after class or over dinner, flashed through his head like the images in a flicker-book.

It only served to bring to mind how badly he had misjudged the professor.

Had he been misled by Lucy too?

He remembered those so brief couple of months – the last months of Lucy's life – when they had both been there, the three of them…

"Try 'Kinnison'." He suggested.

"Kinnison?" Morgan repeated.

"It's from a book. The _Grey Lensman_." Reid told him. "The main character is Kimball Kinnison. Lucy called him that sometimes."

He heard tapping.

"Do I type that loud?" Garcia asked, frowning at the sound.

"It's sexy when you do it, mama." Morgan replied.

There was a small pause.

"Damn." Morgan sounded frustrated. "Think I should try 'Lensman'?"

Reid shook his head. "No."

-o0o-

**J. Edgar Hoover Building, Washington DC**

**16:02**

Rhodes kept his eyes on the way one glass as he answered Holloway's questions with the same dull refrain. "No comment."

"We will find the password." Holloway told him. "We will access your files."

"No comment."

Holloway sat back. "It would be in your favour to talk to me."

"No…" but the next word was not _comment_. Instead he finally looked at Holloway and smiled. "But I will talk to Spencer."

-o0o-

**BAU, Quantico, Virginia**

**16:26**

Hotch picked up the phone and put it to his ear. "Hotchner." He said.

"It's Holloway." John Holloway's voice said down the phone. "I need your team's expertise."

Hotch's heartbeat kicked up but he was careful to keep the reaction out of his voice. "We are at your disposal."

"I appreciate that." The pitch of the reply told him that Holloway knew exactly how Hotch had responded to the invitation. "Manson has begun searching Rhodes' home. He's a sharp kid and if he took the classes he'd make a damn good profiler but right now, he's just intuitive. And I need more. I'd appreciate your professional opinion on Rhodes' home before the crime scene investigators tear it to pieces."

"Understood." Hotch paused and trod carefully with his next words. "How is the questioning going?"

"Damn lawyer advised him not to answer questions." There was a pause. "Rhodes is offering to talk." Holloway said. "But only to Spencer."

"I would not recommend that course of action, sir." The words came too quickly for him to censor.

John chuckled. "I like your style, son." He said. "My response was a little more colourful."

-o0o-

**Everade University, Virginia**

**16:38**

Morgan stared at the cursor on the password box, blinking on and off almost in time with his heartbeat. At some point in the last hour, Lowe had placed a laptop down next to Rhodes' computer. Garcia had quickly dialled in and despite existing only as a face on a screen her presence filled the entire room.

At the moment, her head was turned away to one of her other screens and her fingers were flying on her keyboard. She had been attempting to hack Rhodes' network for over an hour without success.

He saw her pause in her work.

"Talk to me, Baby Girl."

She turned back to his screen. "There's no way to access his files." She replied. "I'm sorry."

"I've had one chance. If I get the next two wrong, can you recover the data?"

"These types of encryption programmes re-write the hard drive several times. There's nothing to recover." She said. "Maybe if I came up there…"

"This is Holloway's case now, Baby Girl." Morgan told her. "If this computer's going anywhere, it'll be to the J Edgar."

"I'm sorry."

Morgan sat back in his chair. "So I have one chance left before I'm on the last card and we have to turn it over to Holloway's Tech." He got up, wincing at the stiffness in his joints from sitting so long. "Reid? You still there, kid?"

"Yeah." His voice sounded so tired and when his face appeared over Garcia's shoulder, Morgan could see that he looked exhausted.

"Keep hanging in there, all right? We need you." He said. "You know Rhodes."

"I really don't know him that well."

"You knew about the Lensman."

Reid looked down. "I keep thinking about that." He said. "About my dream actually."

Morgan frowned. "The one where there's someone you can't see in your room reading a book?"

"I never see the title. But that's it. The _Grey Lensman_." He said. "My subconscious knew all long and never let me know."

"You can't read that much into it, kid."

"I can't read much of anything if I couldn't see that Rhodes…" He trailed off, his voice pitched high with unshed tears.

"Reid, listen to me." He leaned over the laptop, getting as close as he could to the webcam. "You were a victim – first and foremost – being a profiler came a very long way behind."

Garcia moved closer, but Reid stepped back. "I…need to get some air."

"Damn." Morgan muttered, completely helpless to do anything other than watch Reid leave.

Garcia reached out on the screen, as if she really could touch Morgan.

"I shouldn't be asking for his help." He told her.

-o0o-

**16:45**

Time passed.

Morgan knew he was running out of time. He consulted Reid on every idea he had, birth dates, places that Rhodes' had been, music he liked...

Morgan closed his eyes and went through his conversation with Rhodes – his anger, his grieving, his…words….

_"She put them first and herself second, put them before the only thing she's ever wanted, and now she's dead…"_

"Reid, what was Lucy's dream?"

Reid's head bobbed into view. "Dream?"

"You know, what did she want most out of life?"

"Oh." He paused, thinking. "Kids. She wanted kids. Her oncologist told her she would have to wait at least 5 years after getting the all clear to get pregnant, but the cancer was too aggressive. She never got…" He swallowed.

Morgan watched him. He didn't know how close Reid had been to this woman – close enough to keep her picture where he could see it every day – and his reaction only fuelled the suspicions clawing at the back of his mind.

Did Rhodes have those same thoughts? Morgan turned what he knew over in his head. Rhodes and Reid had met at one of the Academy lectures and quickly become friends, more through the high emotions of Lucy's illness than by design. And after she had died, when their acquaintance should have faded, Rhodes had found comfort in talking about her. Did he have those same suspicions then? Morgan wondered. Was 'the comfort' merely a way to probe Reid for details? Had he been planning to do this to Reid for years?

Then both Reid and Garcia looked around, responding to something off camera, before the pair of them disappeared from the screen leaving Morgan affectively alone and staring at the various weird and wonderful knickknacks scattered around Garcia's office.

On a whim, Morgan tapped CANCER into the box.

Then quickly deleted it; even Rhodes wasn't that sick.

-o0o-

**17:35**

It had taken almost an hour for Garcia to return, carrying a large mug of coffee. She filled him in on the team's invitation of join Holloway's investigation and they were both hopeful that it would provide the breakthrough they so desperately needed.

"Where's Reid?"

"Hotch told him to go home." She replied. "He said no at first but he's exhausted."

"I wish I was there for him."

"You are." She told him and putting aside her coffee, she returned to pulling up everything ever written by, or published about, Kimball Rhodes. Reid joined them about 30 minutes later, satchel over his shoulder and coat in his hand. He looked about ready to fall down.

"Garcia, can I have a minute?"

"Sure." She said and moved to one of her other screens so that Reid could use the webcam.

Morgan smiled at the young man. "I thought you going home, kid?"

"I am…I just wanted to say sorry."

Morgan sat forward. "No, I'm sorry." He said. "Reid, I shouldn't have taken the file. I should have asked you."

There was so much more that he wanted to say but he knew Reid wasn't ready for it. But soon… he promised himself.

The sound of Morgan's cell phone ringing halted any reply that Reid might have made. "Morgan." He answered, automatically putting the phone into speaker mode.

"Are you making any progress?" It was Hotch.

"No." He replied.

"We're about to start profiling his home." Hotch said. "I'll call you as soon as we find something useful."

"And Rhodes?"

"Holloway is questioning him. He didn't go into details but he did say that Rhodes is refusing to talk to anyone other than Reid."

Morgan's eyes flicked to the laptop screen where Reid was listening in. He cursed inwardly.

"Keep me posted." Hotch said and he hung up.

Morgan looked over at the screen.

Reid looked back. "Maybe I should talk to him."

"Kid, this is very likely to be the man who assaulted you." Morgan said. "It's not going to happen. I know you wanna help, but the best way to do that right now is to go home and get some sleep."

Reid nodded and mumbled something that the webcam didn't pick up but Morgan assumed was a goodbye.

"Reid?"

The young man turned.

"Call me if you need to."

Garcia turned to the screen. "You know he's probably going straight to see Rhodes."

He hoped not. "Call Holloway." He told her. "He'll make sure Reid can't get anywhere near him."

She slid away from the screen to make the call, leaving Morgan alone with his frustration.

His eyes fell on the password box, still blinking. Maybe he should just leave it to the Tech's.

Dammit, why did Reid have to hear that?

Reid… What did Rhodes want to say to him?

Spurned by a sudden thought, Morgan leaned forward and tapped out REID into the box, the quickly deleted it and replaced it with the word SPENCER.

His finger moved to the enter button. This was his last chance.

He pressed down.

The password accepted.

Morgan would always remember that the clock in the corner of the screen read "19:09" when the world changed forever.

-o0o-

**Rhodes Residence, Richmond, Virginia**

**18:32**

Rhodes' house was neat and faceless, merely a base to sleep in, rather than being the average family home that the outside of the house promised. The only place with any real personality was the study, which was full of books and research papers. Hotch had emptied the drawers while Rossi had concentrated his search on the antique desk.

In the living room, Ashley was curled on the sofa reading Rhodes' diaries which Manson had found in the bedroom. On Hotch's advice, she had narrowed her research down to the years that Reid had known Rhodes so she began in 2004. While her word count trailed pathetically behind Reid's, she was proficient speed reader and she had already finished skimming through two years of Rhodes' life.

But after the third, it stopped. From then on there was nothing but empty pages. She flicked quickly through them. Nothing.

Ashley got up and went to Hotch.

"It stops on Valentine's day 2007." She told him.

Rossi came over. "That was just a few months before Reid was taken."

"Lucy died in 2004 and yet he still speaks to her in his journals like she's still here." Ashley said.

"Speaks?" Hotch repeated.

"About half of the entries are just what you'd expect – stuff he did, things he thought – but the rest are letters to Lucy." She held out one of the journals and ran her finger along one of the lines_, My Dearest Lucy…._ "Pages and pages of letters addressed to her telling her he's going to keep his promise."

Hotch said. "What was his promise?"

Ashley moved to another page she had bookmarked. "To give her a child."

"A child?" Manson asked.

"She had some eggs frozen before she began chemotherapy." Ashley said. "Before she died, Rhodes promised he would use them."

"Damn." Rossi said and went to the desk. "I think I just found his stressor." Rossi held up a letter. The crest at the top read _The Bailey Family Clinic._ "He was diagnosed as infertile in February 2007."

"When the entries stop." Ashley said.

Hotch's cell phone rang and he answered. "You're on speaker."

"Hotch, I got access and it's all here." There was a note of horror in his voice that Hotch had never heard before, in all the years he had known him, through all the terrible cases they had worked together. "Rhodes wasn't just assaulting them. He was collecting sperm."

"Oh God…" Ashley murmured.

"He wanted to keep his promise," Rossi said, "the only way he knew how."

-o0o-

**Everade University, Richmond, Virginia**

**20:34**

Rhodes, like the brilliant researcher he was, kept excellent files. He carefully documented the fertility clinics he had used under false identities, all legitimate and respected businesses which maintained strict confidentially practices, to store "his" semen, detailed notes had been made on the quality and motility of the sperm collected. He had files on potential surrogates, women whose identity was marked only as numbers, and notations on their health, diet and status.

Rhodes had almost succeeded. There were photographs of five embryos created shortly after Reid's assault. And he also, coldly and clinically recorded their fate.

"He destroyed them." Rossi said. "After learning that Reid's mom had schizophrenia."

"Nothing less than perfect was good enough." Hotch finished.

There were more files with detailing Noah's kidnapping and assault. Plans made to use Lucy's last eggs to finally fulfil her dream.

He had not ceased writing journals, he had simply moved them here, writing letters to Lucy about her "boys" Noah and Spencer and how he could see now that she had chosen them, long ago, to give her the children that Kimball could not. He told her how beautiful and intelligent the babies would be. Perfect babies that would make her live again.

Morgan stood in the doorway of Rhodes' office and watched the team read through the files, absorbing Rhodes self-justification for his actions and condoning Lucy's.

He didn't look at the files again. It would make him physically sick to do so.

He had spoken only once, when Hotch and the rest of the team had arrived. _"One of us needs to talk to Reid." _He had said._ "He overheard what you said about Rhodes wanting to talk to him. I don't think he went home, Hotch. He's gone to the HQ."_

_"He hasn't seen this?"_

Morgan had looked Hotch in the eye_. "No."_

-o0o-

**J. Edgar Hoover Building, Washington DC**

**20:39**

John signalled for Lowe to depart, getting up and closing the door of his office behind her. When he sat back behind his desk, his demeanour had changed. Agent Holloway was gone and the man who looked over at Spencer Reid was simply John.

"Show me." He said.

Reid reached into his pocket and pulled out the small round piece of metal that he carried everywhere with him.

"We've just been through the professional reasons you can't talk to Rhodes, but I think you need to see that as well." John said. "That's the other reason."

Reid put it his palm, made it disappear and then reappear.

If only a magic trick would work on his pain.

Or on the things he had learned…

Or the last few years…

"Come back with me tonight." John said. "Anna would love to see you."

Reid shook his head. "No." His voice sounded hollow.

"That's not a request, agent."

Reid looked up at the sharp reply to find John smiling at him.

"Good," John said. "I have a few things to finish up then we'll go."

-o0o-

**22:56**

Reid heard footsteps behind him and guessed it was time to go. Given the time that had passed he knew a breakthrough had come but he had stayed away. He didn't turn to greet John but instead concentrated on the feel of his one year medallion pressed in his palm.

"Kid, you must be freezing out here." Morgan's voice.

He had hoped the team would not find him here.

"Reid?"

They would want to talk.

Morgan would want to talk about Lucy as he had tried to a few hours before.

He closed his eyes and remembered, words scrawled in chalk on a blackboard…

"Roses are red, violets are blue…"

He could see Morgan at the periphery of his vision and only realised he'd spoken those words aloud when he caught the concern that filled his friend's eyes.

"Kid, you're going to have to tell me about Lucy, you realise that?"

Yes, he did.

So he turned and finished the refrain. _Roses are red, violets are blue…_ "Your mommy's a psycho and you will be too."

-o0o-

**Hotch:**

_"Don't part with your illusions. When they are gone you may still exist, but you have ceased to live._

Mark Twain."

**BAU, Quantico, Virginia**

**23:01**

Hotch switched off his light and closed his office door. He saw Rossi still sat at his own desk, staring blankly into the distance.

"It's late." He told him.

"I know." Rossi replied. "Something keeps gnawing at me." He held up a sheet.

"What's that?"

"Reid wrote this from memory." Rossi said. "One page from the file he made about Milo Kullen years ago."

A fond smile curled the edges of his lips. "His mind is extraordinary."

"Hotch; this page makes the only mention of the Andrews-Marcello in Kullen's file." Rossi said. "The one thing that connected him to Noah. It also happens to be the only page that our very conscientious Derek Morgan lost."

Hotch frowned. "You believe someone took it?"

Rossi sat forward. "I called the detective at the Pasadena PD. He told me Gideon was there two days ago just like he was in Coos Bay when you and I went there in '08."

"Morgan said there was something he needed to tell me. I guess that was it." He paused. "Gideon was very fond of Reid."

"Detective Ansell was very helpful and apologised for the mistake he and his partner made. It was Gideon's profile and information that led them to arrest Matthew Baynton." Rossi said. "So tell me this: why, if Gideon was so fond of Reid, would he deliberately bias the investigation away from a connection to Reid's assault and on to someone else? And I think he took that page to prevent Morgan from making the connection."

"That would mean that Gideon knew."

"He figured this thing out years ago and did nothing," Rossi finished, "but why?"

"To protect Reid?"

-o0o-

**17****th**** April 2011**

**23:58**

Gideon slipped into the darkened room and softly approached the sleeping form in the bed. Tenderly he plucked a black king chess piece from the small fingers lying against the pillow.

He took the white king from his pocket and held them both, side by side, in his hands. Reunited. With a smile, he placed the kings on the bedside table. His actions disturbed the sleeper.

The eyes of Spencer Reid's son blinked blearily up at him.

"Daddy." He mumbled.

...


	21. Lucy's Heart

_Firstly - Yay! You're still with me. Thanks for hanging in there after that reveal. Rest assured I haven't lost my mind: that was the plan all along and all will soon be clear x_

_Secondly – I am so sorry for the extended wait between chapters. I would never had left it there, on the Big Reveal, if I'd known that work would turn as manic as it did._

-o0o-

**Lucy's Heart**

**Reid:**

"Aristotle wrote:

_Those who educate children well are more to be honoured than they who produce them; _

_for these only gave them life, those the art of living well."_

**West Las Vagas Middle School,**

**October 1988**

The special desk was in the centre of the classroom and it was almost as if the shaft of light streaming in through the window shone only to spotlight whoever sat at it. The chair was noticeably smaller than the rest and far newer. It was one of several that had been specially purchased by the principle to cater for the needs of the school's star pupil: a 7 year old genius called Spencer Reid.

The boy himself walked stiffly passed the young teens sitting at their own desks; huge cloth backpack hugged to his chest like a shield, and tried to ignore both the chalk words on the blackboard screaming at him and the snickers of the rest of the class.

The teacher walked in just as Spencer reached his desk. The sounds stifled and turned to smug looks thrown in his direction. He could feel them almost willing him mentally to cry the way they might silently support their football team.

Miss Hayes looked at the poem scrawled on the blackboard and tutted loudly before taking up the chock and quickly wiping them off.

Spencer watched the letters disappear. In a couple of seconds, that stupid childish poem was nothing more than a white smear.

But it was never really gone.

His memory - so bright, so clear, so able to crystallise anything written down - would ensure that.

-o0o-

**J. Edgar Hoover Building, Washington DC**

**19****th**** April 2011**

At some point in the last hour, both Morgan and Reid had moved to sit with their backs against the balcony wall, sheltered from the cruel wind but still at the mercy of the falling temperature.

Morgan felt bone deep weary, as if every limb had a lump of concrete dangling from it, and he wanted nothing more for this long day to be over. But he had asked to be the one to do this – to finally bring Reid some closure after all these years – and he could not afford to wait. He didn't know what connection Reid shared with John Holloway but, from only a brief time spent with the man, Morgan knew that the bond ran deep.

By morning, Holloway would have told him everything, _listened _to everything.

And Morgan could not let that happen.

He did not understand why it mattered so much to him and tried to castigate himself for wanting Reid's gratitude in the face of his sanctimonious '_I promised you we'd get him and we did_' speeches. But he knew in his heart that wasn't true. If Reid never thanked him – and the pain that lay ahead now his UnSub had been caught, the trauma of a trial, was not much to be thankful for – it would never matter to Morgan.

"I don't understand, Kid." He said once Reid had recounted that long ago morning in his Las Vegas classroom. "What does this have to do with Lucy?"

The young man looked away. "Everything," he replied

-o0o-

**California Institute of Technology, Pasadena, California**

**Thanksgiving, 1998**

Spencer slammed the trunk of his battered old Volvo shut. The campus was largely deserted; almost all of the American students had gone home for the holiday, leaving only those from overseas and a mixed handful without family and friends to spend it with. He was to have been one of the latter, buried in books and giving thanks only for the extra time to study, but a largely incoherent call from his mother in the early hours of the morning had put an end to those plans.

He was going home to his mother, to Diana…

…To a paranoid schizophrenic who probably hadn't got out of bed in several days and hadn't bathed or eaten in that time…

"I thought you were staying with us?"

He turned at the voice behind him. The new Professor stood clutching a huge pile of textbooks with a bright wide smile on her face. "My mom wanted me home."

Professor Watkins frowned. "Most people are happy about that." She said. It surprised him that she could so readily see his reluctance when he'd grown so good at concealing it.

"I am." He replied automatically, and it wasn't a lie. It just wasn't the truth either. It occupied some nether land in between. And Spencer had been living there a very long time.

She smiled warmly at him, shifting the pile of books so that she could press one hand around his wrist. She squeezed his wrist gently in support but the action dislodged the pile and the textbooks clattered to the ground.

"Sorry!" He said and knelt to help her pick them up at the same moment she leant forward. Their foreheads smacked together. She gave a little yelp and pressed her hand to her head. "I'm so sorry!"

She laughed. "That's OK." She said and looked over at him. They were both still crouched down. "How's that brilliant mind of yours? I'm pretty sure knocking a few IQ points out of the Institute's brightest pupil can get me fired."

Spencer blushed profusely, mortification at having made such a social error compounded by his seventeen year old inability to take a compliment from a beautiful older woman.

She seemed to guess he needed distracting and began scooping up the books. "I shouldn't be carrying so many at once, but I'm the laziest person on the planet and one trip across campus is enough." She held out the pile she gathered. "Do you think you could take some for me? There's a cappuccino with your name on it, if you can. Or do you need to get straight off?"

Spencer took the books. "I don't have to go now." He said, even though leaving later would jam him in traffic and tried to ignore the wave of guilt that rose up at the knowledge that his mother would have to wait longer to see him.

"Good." She collected up the rest of the books and stood up. "It's this way."

-o0o-

Reid could feel Morgan's eyes on him, studying him in a way he really hadn't before. He knew Morgan was here to tell him about Professor Rhodes, to help him put the final pieces of his missing past into place so he could acknowledge the truth, whole and uncensored, and begin to heal. But Morgan needed to hear this first, because it was relevant and it _mattered _and because he had asked and deserved an answer, but if he waited until Morgan had explained everything then he might never tell it.

"Did you tell her the reason you didn't want to go home?" He asked.

"Eventually," Reid admitted. "But not that day."

He wanted to explain how that afternoon had been first of many spent in Professor Watkins office, talking over steaming coffee mugs, but he didn't. Not because he couldn't – the words would come so easily, too easily, to his lips – but so there would be something of this left untouched and unsullied. Lucy had listened to him and guided him in a way he'd never really had before, even as a small child. He had always felt a warm echo of that during his friendship with Gideon. She had loved him, he realised now, and he had never been loved for just being himself before.

Reid could see an unasked question in Morgan's eyes, mingled in the concern and the exhaustion, the sharp, bitter question that would hurt them both. He pressed his head back against the cold, rough brickwork so he wouldn't see it, wouldn't acknowledge it.

Because Morgan was going to ask and neither of them was ready for the answer.

-o0o-

**Hotchner Residence, Virginia**

Hotch opened the door of his son's bedroom and looked at the sleeping boy. He didn't go over to kiss him, although he wanted to with such ferocity that it was a physical ache. Jack was a light sleeper and tended to awake at the slightest sound. Hotch had disturbed the child's sleep too many times in the past for his own selfish need for comfort.

He wondered what the boy had done today and looked forward to hearing about it over breakfast, about the simple and bright life he led away from the darkness of his fathers. It frightened Hotch sometimes how little their lives connected and yet he did not – could not – bring himself to change it. He could only hope that Jack, once grown, would not judge him too harshly for that.

As he watched his son, he thought of Lucy and of Rhodes' descriptions of the aching grief she had endured when she had learned she would probably never live to have children. He…_squandered_…the very thing that her heart had beat for.

The world, in all its unfairness, lain bare.

The little boy murmured in his sleep, turning over, disturbed by the light filtering through the open door.

Hotch quickly closed the door and pushed the guilt to the back of his mind.

-o0o-

"Spencer?"

The voice – John's voice – broke the silence that had fallen between them. Both Morgan and Reid got to their feet at the man's approach, his body silhouetted against the light from the door.

Holloway looked directed at Morgan, face cast into shadows, when he said to Spencer. "It's time to go." It was a clear unequivocal message from a superior to a subordinate and one that Morgan purposely ignored.

"Kid, you can come home with me." He told him but his eyes remained fixed on John. His body tensing at the challenge he could sense in the air, fuelled by exhaustion and worry.

"That's…already been taken care of, agent." John said and there was a noticeable edge to his voice.

"Actually," Reid interrupted, "I think I'd rather just go home."

Both men finally turned their attention to Reid. Light from the door that John had come through and left open lit his face. He looked tired and pale and there was an uncharacteristic glint of anger in his eyes.

"That's not-" John began then stopped before ending, "-wise."

Something about his choice of words clawed a hole right through Morgan although he wasn't sure why. How close was this man to Reid? And why should it matter?

Holloway waited with the air of a man unfamiliar with not getting what he wanted, especially in his place of work where the ground was all his own.

Morgan's gut clenched. "Reid, I know this has been a hellva day for you but…just don't be alone tonight." Morgan's eyes flickered to John. "I'll call JJ and…one of us can drive you over."

The neutral choice hung in the air. A long moment passed.

Morgan doubted that Spencer was naïve enough not to know what he'd done and there was a sharp glint in John's eyes at the manipulation.

But Reid just looked tired, too tired to fight, and Morgan immediately regretted his selfish need to be the one there for Reid. Surely it didn't matter who as long as _someone_ was.

But before he could take it back, Reid nodded. "OK." He looked over at John. "I'll call you in the morning." He promised. "Thank you."

John's reaction – a mix of badly concealed anxiety and loss – hit Morgan in the gut with more regret. This was a man who desperately wanted to help, as much as he did, and what right did he have to stop him?

And yet, regret and all, Morgan would do it again in a heartbeat.

Reid picked up his satchel and hooked it over his head.

John took something from his pocket and pressed it in to Reid's palm. "We'll talk tomorrow." He said; a simple sentence that seemed loaded with significance.

Reid's fist tightened around the object without needing to see what it was. He nodded tiredly before heading towards the door. Morgan saw that he looked back once at Holloway but there was too much exhaustion on his face to read what he felt.

-o0o-

It began to rain once Morgan's car pulled out onto the freeway, a heavy pelt against the windscreen that reduced the pace of traffic to a slow crawl and threw the sequence of memories that Morgan had put into motion into sharper contrast. The sound of the raindrops was muted by the expensive interior, so different to how it had sounded in his Volvo on that long ago Christmas Eve…

"I told Lucy about my mom a few weeks later…" He began.

-o0o-

**Las Vegas**

**Christmas Eve, 1998**

Aunt Lorraine. Aunt Lorraine. Aunt Lorraine.

They had to get to Aunt Lorraine. Because it was Christmas and she shouldn't be alone at Christmas but everyone wanted her to be. Why did everyone want Lorraine to be alone this Christmas?

Diana's conviction was unshakable, bundling them both into the car as soon as darkness fell and screaming at her son for being one of Them, one of the people who wanted Lorraine to be alone. And Lorraine was NOT going to be alone.

Spencer had never seen his mother so deep into a delusion that nothing of the outside world penetrated. He was desperately out of his depth. Everything he had learned over the years, techniques to help manage his mother's illness, was useless. He hadn't been able to reach beyond the paranoia, had failed in his pleas to get her to take her medications and had lost the terrible battle to prevent Diana from getting in the car.

He was fighting panic now…and afraid, so very afraid… Afraid for Diana, lost in the torments of her mind, for the other drivers on the road, for… himself. But he couldn't leave her.

Rain pelted against the windscreen. Visibly was nil and yet Diana kept her foot on the accelerator, pressed down as far as it could go. He hadn't even realised the old car was capable of such speeds.

His mother was screaming at him, words incoherent against the rain, the rush of cars and the blearing of horns. She had stopped making sense a few hours ago and despite knowing that nothing he could say now would draw her out of the chaos, he was still trying.

"Mom, please! Try to concentrate." He heard the tremor in his voice and tried to pitch his voice louder, _stronger_. "Please."

"No!" She snapped, "you don't want me to get to Lorraine!"

"Mom, I do, I promise." He couldn't afford to give in to the tears and the panic threatening to overwhelm him. "Just let me drive, OK?"

"No." Her head jerked up, reacting to something only she could hear and this time her reply was more desperate and not aimed at him. "NO! I won't. NO! Lorraine-"

He reached out for her shoulder so that she would feel his presence beyond the others shouting in her head. With a pitched cry, she took both hands off the wheel to push him away. "Stop it! Stop, Spencer!"

"MOM!" The car veered into the centre of the road to a chorus of squealing brakes and horns and shouted curses.

Diana hit the brakes, arm coming out to halt Spencer's lurch forward at the rapid deceleration. In the quiet, too-brief second they sat in the stalled car, Spencer leaned into the arm pressed against his chest, drawing comfort from it. His mother, who loved him, who protected him, was still in there somewhere. He just had to reach her.

Then the touch was gone and Diana was driving again. "We must get to Aunt Lorraine!"

"Mom, listen to me. Aunt Lorraine died two years ago. In Australia. We couldn't afford to go to the funeral." He paused, remembering. "You cried." Really cried; something he'd never seen before.

"No, you're lying." She took one hand off the steering wheel and pushed it into her hair, clawing at her scalp.

"I'm not. Please try to remember, Mom."

She began batting at her forehead. "You're lying! She's in Utah."

"She used to live in Utah before she moved to Sydney."

She shook her head. "You're trying to confuse me!" The hand hitting her head sped up, used more force. "No!" She yelled, not at him but at the voices in her mind. "NO!"

Spencer reached out to grab her wrist to stop her from hurting herself but her other hand left the wheel in a reflective move to push him away. This time the car lurched off road and on to the dirt reservation, bumping and lurching over the uneven ground. Diana's words descended into garbled yelling and Spencer's efforts changed from an attempt to stop her from hurting herself to an attempt to prevent her from hurting him. Her slaps stung but damaged only his heart. His foot found the brake pedal and he stomped down.

The pair of them crashed forward as the car jerked to a halt.

This time there was no momentary silence, only the near incoherency of his mother's yelling.

"You're lying!" She screamed at him, hands continuing to flail and bat, landing as many blows on him as on herself. "You're lying! You're lying!"

He scooted back. His hand found the door release and the passenger door clicked open. She pushed hard against him and he fell out into the mud, landing on the small of his back, legs still half in the Volvo.

"Mom!" He struggled up to a sitting position but before he could stand up she slammed the door in his face. Through the window he could see her yelling at the voices again, completely lost to them.

He knew what was going to happen before it did.

It still came as a heart lurching shock.

The car roared away, wheels spinning in the mud before veering heedlessly into the traffic.

Several cold empty minutes passed in which there was only the icy clutch of fear in his chest.

The mud seeped into his trousers, wet and oily, and the driving rain soon soaked his clothes through to the skin. He stared into the distance, where the dark road stretched endlessly ahead and just as endlessly behind.

-o0o-

**Behavioural Analysis Unit, Quantico, Virginia**

**19 April 2011**

Garcia walked into her office, still tired from the day before and from a largely sleepless night. She came to an abrupt stop when she realised she wasn't alone. Rossi and Hotch stood inside.

She frowned.

Rossi guiltily put down a Russian doll he had been examining. The lines on her middle didn't join up, leaving the little wooden doll disjoined and wrong, like all those pictures of butchered women that filled her screens.

"We need a favour." Rossi said. "One that the rest of the team can't know about." He paused. "At least, not right now."

Hotch met her eyes. "We need you to find Gideon."

-o0o-

_Hee, I always wanted to do _Flashback!Cliffhanger_ (to see if such a thing were possible) and _Characters-don't-know-it's-a-cliffie-but-reader-does!Cliffhanger _(same reasons.) _


	22. Diana's Mind

_Ok, the good news: Sky Living is *finally* showing season 8 which is good as I need characters talk **at** me to talk **to** me to write. And I have a week off. The bad news: I don't have Sky so rely on going to my mum's house to watch it, which makes viewing a little erratic. Also, I'm pretty much the last qualified person left at work and we're running on locum, well, everything and that leaves me with no energy left to write._

_Anyway what I'm trying to say is: sorry this took a while and sorry that the next chapter might be something of a long wait as well. But please believe I haven't given up on the story._

_-o0o-_

**Rossi:**

"Author Mira Bartok once said:

_We children of schizophrenics are the great secret keepers, the ones who don't want you to think that anything is wrong_."

**Jareau Residence, Virginia**

Reid did not sleep that night. The bed in JJ's guest room was soft and welcoming, the sheets cool and crisp and freshly laundered, but he remained frustratingly wakeful. Thoughts crowded in his mind and pushing away one only left room for another. It was almost as if he could feel them feeding his body cortisol and making his heart race in his chest.

At around 3 am, he finally sat up in bed, clicked on the bedside light, pulled a book from his satchel and began reading so he wouldn't have to think anymore. The night passed quicker after that.

Once it was light enough, Reid got up and showered, putting on the trousers he'd worn the day before and one of Will's shirts that JJ had laid out for him.

In the kitchen, Will was making himself something that smelled of malt. He greeted Reid tiredly, hair mussed and eyes bleary after a long night shift. He did not seem surprised by Reid's presence so Reid guessed that JJ must have called him and told him what had happened.

Reid's stomach knotted at the thought that she had probably told him _everything_ that had happened.

"You want one?" Will offered, waggling the cup. "Momma LaMontange's special brew."

Reid's stomach felt vaguely empty so he agreed.

Will began pouring milk into a pan, and then heaped a cream coloured powder into a large mug. As he worked, he glanced up at Reid. "You look like you could use it." He said. "Reckon I got more sleep last night than you did."

Reid tried to hide the jolt he felt at the words, but knew he failed by the concern that filled Will's face. The other man looked away and began recounting the many years his mother had sent him to bed on this recipe and how he had guessed he was finally a man when she did _this_ and Will poured a large measure of whiskey into Reid's mug after the milk.

Reid let the words flow over him, allowing that part of him that stored…_everything_…to keep him in the conversation, while he tried to think of something that he had carried with him into adulthood that was inherently Diana. But there was nothing. Unless you counted a broad, clinical understanding of schizophrenia and an almost encyclopaedic knowledge of the drugs used to treat it.

Will pushed Reid's mug over to him then took a sip of his own. He watched as Reid blew a little on the surface before taking a small taste.

It was thick and milky, almost cloyingly so, vaguely sweet, with the tell-tale bite of alcohol as it went down his throat.

Will stifled a yawn at the same moment the kitchen door flew open and Henry came running in, blond hair sticking up in all directions and dried drool crusted around his mouth. He flung himself at his father, who scooped him up into his arms and listened, patiently, through the sleep garbled, poorly enunciated words of what he and his mother were going to do that day.

JJ followed and the kitchen was soon filled with the happy chatter of a family enjoying what was probably their first meal together in several days. The noise bothered Reid and he could only hope that Morgan would arrive soon.

-o0o-

**BAU, Quantico, Virginia**

Garcia frowned at the request. "We agreed not to search for Gideon." She finally said. They had made that decision years ago, for better or for worse, to give Gideon the space he needed. She had not entirely agreed with that, but she had abided by it.

"I know." Hotch replied. "But it's important."

_It wasn't before?_ She felt the retort in the back of her throat. "Why now?" Then added, "sir," at the sharpness of their expressions.

"He was in Pasadena a couple of days ago. Detective Sargent Lyons had contacted him and he was helping the investigation into Noah Layton's assault." Hotch told her. "There are a few details we need to go over."

"But given recent events, we should keep this between us for now." Rossi added. "The last thing Reid or the rest of the team need right now is more stress."

Garcia nodded. "OK." She sat down in front of her computers. "This probably won't take long."

-o0o-

Morgan picked Reid up an hour later than expected and Reid had almost convinced himself that he wouldn't be working today when Morgan finally turned up. His greeting to Reid and JJ and Henry was relaxed and as friendly as always, but Reid felt there was a tension there.

Sitting in the passenger seat, Reid was aware of the occasional glances in his direction.

"You were late." Reid said.

"No, I'm not, Reid." He said slowly and there was that tension again. "You're not working today."

"Then why..?" He began and then trailed off as he understood. He wasn't going into the FBI for work, he was going there as a witness…as a victim.

The milky drink weighed heavily, sickly, on his stomach and he swallowed to relieve the sensation.

Morgan's eyes flickered over to him. "You OK?"

He licked his lips, queasy.

The concern on Morgan's face deepened and Reid felt the car slow up considerably. "Reid?"

He looked down at his hands and then abruptly away as the image of their use in Milo Kullen's photographs was suddenly there, vividly, in front of his eyes.

The car halted and Morgan turned in his seat, eyes full of worry.

Reid's body tensed for flight, for fight, for some melodramatic reaction that would get Morgan to back off but none came. There was just an ugly silence. It felt like a really long time but was probably no more than one single second.

Then Morgan straightened in his seat, restarted the car and moved back into the traffic, putting more effort into 'lights, mirrors, signal' than was strictly necessary. Reid felt a wave of gratitude for his pretence at normal.

A few more seconds passed and the roiling in Reid's stomach faded into the background.

"You never finished your story, kid." Morgan finally said. "You, left on the road…" He reminded him. "I hate being left hanging like that."

Reid's heart ached. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. But you do need to talk about it."

"I know. It's not like I have a choice."

"I wish I could make it easier."

Reid offered him a smile. "You are." He told him then drew in a deep breath. He wasn't ready to face the issue of Kimball Rhodes yet which left…the rest of the story.

-o0o-

**25 December 1998**

**Las Vegas, Nevada**

Spencer sat under the small overhang, partially sheltered from the driving rain and watched the headlights in the distance slowly disappearing into the night. That driver and his passengers if he had any were the only other human lives for probably a hundred miles.

The deserted gas station where he had found shelter and more importantly, a payphone, was eerie and dead, shut up for the Christmas holiday by a paranoid owner with a penchant for steel padlocks. He had given silent thanks to the telecommunications company for installing the phone outside and not in.

Spencer had made only one call. He knew, in his heart, that he should make another. He had lifted the receiver and pressed the 9 before moving his finger to the 1 but his courage failed then and he hung up. His mother was out there, driving erratically – dangerously – locked in a delusion so fierce she had abandoned her son on the road side. But the thought of her distress at being surrounded by police officers, maybe even chased, manhandled, almost certainly place in handcuffs and stripped of her belt, shoelaces…clothes…_dignity_… He could not – would not – do that to her.

And he would have to live with that decision for the rest of his life.

He only hoped it was the right one, and not just the coward's.

Another set of headlight specked the far distance, this time coming closer, slowly and carefully. Just a cautious driver? Or were they looking for someone?

Spencer stood up, stepping out into the rain and blinking through the heavy drops in a vain attempt to get a better look at the car before the driver saw him. He had read too many true crime books to know that it wasn't a good idea to be alone on the road.

The car came closer and Spencer pressed close to one of the gas pumps, shrinking into its shadow. The car slowed even more and indicated to pull into the garage. Light from its headlamps reflected harshly in the store window, lifting the car and its occupant out of the gloom. A wave of relief rushed through Spencer as he recognised the familiar green mustang and it's even more familiar driver.

Lucy looked around the deserted gas station and Spencer stepped out where he could be seen. She quickly opened the passenger door and waved him inside.

"Thanks." He said.

"You'll catch pneumonia. Here." She pulled a blanket off the back seat and held it out. "Take off your clothes."

He blushed.

"At least your shirt and pants." Lucy smiled at him. "If not for yourself, then for my seats."

"Sorry." He pulled off his Tee and peeled his jeans off of his legs before wrapping the blanket around himself. The brushed fabric felt wonderful against his chilled skin.

Lucy turned the car around and headed, slowly, back out onto the road. "So, are you going to tell me how you got stranded way out here, miles from anything approaching civilisation on Christmas Day?"

Christmas Day? He looked at the glowing numbers on the dashboard. 4.53am.

"Miles that I've just driven over to come pick you up," she added, but the words were kindly spoken and not pitched to make him feel guilty. "Are you OK?"

He nodded.

"If you're in some kind of trouble, I can help you."

He hunched in the seat and didn't answer her.

"Spencer…" Her fingers flexed on the steering wheel. "You got lucky tonight. I was staying in the area. If you have some sort of problem, with…with money, or girlfriends, boyfriends, or…or whatever it is, you need to tell someone. This could have been so much worse." She told him. "You know that right?"

He did. And he knew he owed her some explanation. Maybe he even owed himself…

"Who left you out here?"

It had been so long since he had dared to tell someone about Diana.

"Spencer, the kind of bastard who ditched you on the road doesn't deserve your protection," she told him, "or your loyalty."

He swallowed the tightness in his throat. "It was my mom." He said softly. "She has schizophrenia and she was having one of her episodes…"

-o0o-

Morgan parked his car and looked across at Reid. The young man was staring out of the window, lost in thought. Morgan had listened while Reid had listed the problems his mother had faced in 1999 that even new medication and stronger doses had not eased. Without her son as her constant companion, she had skipped doses, missed meals, lost whole days sleeping… And from that fateful night onwards, at Spencer's side, offering support was Lucy. Morgan knew he should feel glad that someone had been there for Reid but instead there was growing unease.

"What did you mom think?" Morgan asked, "of Lucy?"

The young man frowned. "They only met once." He told him, his eyes unfocused.

"And?" He prompted.

Reid ignored the question and got out of the car.

Morgan pulled the keys from the ignition and got out as well. "Reid?"

Reid busied himself with the strap of his satchel, which had twisted. Once it was lying against his shoulder properly, he turned and began walking quickly towards the elevators.

Morgan stared at the young man's back.

-o0o-

**29 April 1999**

**Las Vegas**

"I don't like her, Spencer." His mother pulled her dressing gown tighter around herself and rocked in the chair.

"Mom, she's just my professor." Spencer replied, unable to stop himself from looking over at the doorway where Lucy Watkins stood.

"No!" Her hand came up, index finger straight while the others were slightly curved, "no, she isn't."

Lucy stepped closer. "Mrs Reid, I-"

"No! Get her out of here, Spencer!" Diana cried and began rocking more agitatedly. "This is my house and I won't have her in it."

"Mom-"

"It's OK, Spencer." Lucy said. "I'll wait in the car, OK?"

He went to stand but his mother gripped his wrist and there was no way to pull against the hold without hurting her.

"I hope you feel better soon, Mrs Reid." Lucy told her. "And please believe me when I say I have only your son's best intentions at heart."

Diana made a sharp sound, like a tut, and increased the pressure on Spencer's wrist, keeping eye contact with her son until they both heard the front door close behind Lucy.

Diana let go. "She's not just your professor, Spencer." His mother said, her words low and rough but lucid. "The way she looks at you…"

"She just wants to help."

"She wants…more than that." She sounded suddenly exhausted. "From you."

"Mom. You don't understand. She's a professor at Cal Tech."

"No! No, you don't understand!" She snapped. "Stay away from her, Spencer." She gripped his wrist again. "Promise me you'll stay away from her or something bad will happen."

-o0o-

**BAU, Quantico, Virginia**

"Your mom didn't like her, did she?" Morgan said as he fell into step beside Reid.

"She said something bad would happen if I stayed friends with her." He stopped in front of the elevators and looked down at his feet. "She was right."

Morgan pressed the call button then turned to his friend. "Reid, your mom is a hellva smart and intuitive woman and yes, she was right about Lucy, but she was also a paranoid schizophrenic who was having difficulties at that time and you shouldn't blame yourself for not listening to her."

A tear spilled from Reid's eye. "I did more than that…"

-o0o-

**May 1999**

**Cal Tech, California**

Professor Watkins office felt stuffy even with the desktop fan running at full tilt. There wasn't enough air and Spencer felt like he could no longer breathe.

Lucy held out a leaflet. "I think…maybe you should consider this. They take indigent cases." She looked embarrassed. "I…Consider it, OK, and…don't shoot the messenger."

He took the folded paper automatically and the words on the front seemed to drill into his head. The Bennington Sanatorium.

No.

No. No. No. No…

He had been his mother's carer for the last 8 years and he wasn't going to stop now. No. He would leave school instead – he already had one doctorate and how many did a person need anyway – and get a job, something with an option to work from home. He would do this properly. It would leave him time to research schizophrenia. He knew, without question, he would cure the condition before he was 30.

He could see his life ahead of him and it all made sense.

So he told her.

Lucy listened, like she always did. Then she took his face gently between her hands.

"Spencer…" Her voice was soft but firm. "You need to have a life. And you can't lead your mother's anymore."

-o0o-

"Reid, you did the right thing." Morgan told him. "For you _and_ your mom."

The elevator doors opened to their floor. They walked in silence through the building until they reached the bull pen. Morgan noticed the looks of varying degrees of interest, concern and sympathy that were aimed at Reid. He stared down as many as he could as they walked. The last thing the kid needed right now was the extra stress of his colleagues' reactions.

Reid slumped at his desk and his eyes fell on the picture of Lucy and Rhodes and himself. He picked it up.

"Reid, based on everything you've said and everything I've learned, I gotta agree with your mom." Morgan said as he perched on the edge of the desk. "I don't like Lucy. But we owe her for getting you to stay in school so you can be here with us now. And everyone we've saved over the years owes her too."

Reid continued to stare at the photo.

"But there's a question I need to ask – that _we_ need to ask as part of the investigation – and I think you know what it is." Morgan watched the young man carefully, in profile. "But right now, I'm gonna ask you as a friend: did she sleep with you?"

Reid looked around, eyes wide. "No."

The toneless answer gave Morgan nothing to judge its truthfulness by. He could only take it at face value and on trust. "Did she want you too?"

"No!" Reid threw down the picture, making it clatter on the desk, before sitting forward and pressing his face into his hands.

"Then why keep her picture?" He pressed. "Why here on your desk where you can see it every day?"

Reid sat back and opened the top drawer of his desk. Inside was the familiar writing pad on which he wrote letters to his mother. "So I don't ever forget why I write to my mom."

-o0o-

David Price stared at the scattered newspaper clippings pinned haphazardly to the dirty walls of his son's bedroom. They were yellowing now, torn from the papers so long ago, detailing the murders, Daniel's suicide, the coroner's verdict... They were all he had left.

The one in the centre caught his eye, with its picture of the FBI agent responsible for the loss of his son: Dr Spencer Reid.

-o0o-


	23. Gideon's Soul: Part One

_A/N: I honestly never thought I could get this done in a few days. This chapter is for Tym, with thanks._

-o0o-

**Gideon's Soul**

**Hotch:**

"_We are all mistaken sometimes; sometimes we do wrong things, things that have bad consequences. But it does not mean we are evil, or that we cannot be trusted ever afterwards._

Alison Croggon."

John Holloway took a large mouthful of tea and swallowed. It burned, but in good way. Not like the heat of his tenth vodka going down, but still making him feel a pain that was physical, that he could control, and didn't just clutch at his innards relentlessly.

God he needed a drink right now…

Across the interview table, Kimball Rhodes toyed with his own mug of tea, pushing the cup back and forth between his left and right hands. It made a constant _scrape-scrape-scrape_ noise as it travelled over the pitted surface of the table. The sound grated against John's nerves.

In the centre of the table lay the photos taken from Milo Kullen's phone, including the enhanced image of the medallion hanging from the neck of Reid's assailant. And beside it, in an evidence bag, was Rhodes' necklace.

The professor had cast the barest of glances at the pictures and now behaved as if they weren't there. Even the most explicit, showing Reid's face twisted with horror at what was being done to him, failed to move him.

How could anyone see that happen to another human being and not feel sympathy?

How could he see that about a _friend_ and not feel rage?

"You killed Milo Kullen because he took these pictures, didn't you?"

_Scrape-scrape-scrape_… "No comment."

-o0o-

Morgan sat with Reid as Lowe and Manson went over the details of their investigation. Spencer could feel his friend's presence at his side, offering silent support, as the agents told him what Rhodes had done and why. There was a disconnection to their words, like he was on a professional consult for a case that had no bearing on his life.

Then they began the questions – had Rhodes discussed Lucy's request, had he told him of his infertility – and it was all suddenly too real.

-o0o-

Garcia didn't need to look behind her to know who had entered her office. She kept her eyes on her screens, her fingers on her keyboard.

"You have something for us?" Rossi asked as he came to stand on her left side. In the periphery of her right eye she saw Hotch take the space on her other side.

"I've found Gideon." She said and brought up a tenancy agreement on her screen. "He's living on Mercer Island in Washington and works as a collections manager for the Burke Museum." The museum's website flashed up in another window, listing the staff of the ornithology department and revealing Jason's name. Hotch leant forward. "I have both his work and personal cell phone numbers and all 6 of email addresses."

Rossi looked over at his friend. "Hotch, if we contact him by phone, what are the odds he'll run again?"

"He would find that more difficult this time, sir." Garcia said and began tapping on her keyboard. "He adopted a seven month old baby boy in February of 2009…" The child's passport popped up in a new window. She looked up at them with a smile. "He named him Spencer."

Hotch's frown deepened. "Gideon married again?"

"No, it was a private adoption through an agency." Garcia said. "And almost as soon as the adoption was finalised, Gideon took a position at the Natural History Museum in London, England and moved there. He and his son returned to the US at the beginning of this year."

"OK so more difficult." Rossi admitted. "But not impossible. A face to face meeting would still be more prudent."

"And more intimidating," Hotch pointed out. "We can't afford to alienate Gideon and besides, we can't leave now. Reid needs us."

"I agree, _you_ can't," Rossi said, "but I can. And I've never worked with Gideon. I'm the next best thing to a neutral person."

Hotch straightened up, clearly weighing options in his mind. "Could you trace Gideon's movements from the time he left us to the present day?" He asked Garcia.

"On it." She began tapping, calling up bank statements. "This is Gideon's credit card usage in 2007." She said and scrolled through the listed purchases. "He mainly buys gas, motel rooms, fast food for pretty much the first six months after he left. Kentucky, Missouri, Kansas, Colorado, Utah, Nevada…" A map appeared on her screen with a line of red dot clusters following Gideon's credit card path and slow journey across the states. "He reached Sacramento in California by November and stayed through to the New Year." Another window opened up over the map, revealing the tax details of Steven Gideon and listing the modest house he owned in one of the less well-off areas of Sacramento. "There's no hotel bills on here but there are a number of cash withdrawals and purchases made within a 2 mile radius of his son's house."

"He stayed with Steven." Hotch sounded surprised.

"Until after the holidays," Garcia said. "Then he began renting an apartment in Seattle in February of 2008."

Hotch tensed. "And in June of that year?"

Garcia scrolled down to the relevant month. She looked up at the two agents. "Coos Bay, Oregon."

-o0o-

**Coos Bay, Oregon**

**27 June 2008**

Detective Lyons eagerly shook Gideon's hand. He looked tired but that didn't hide the obvious relief he felt at having the FBI agent there.

"Thank you for coming so quickly."

"I was in Seattle. But even if I had been on the other side of the world..." Gideon replied. He let the sentence slide. Lyons had no knowledge of his resignation from the FBI, or of the reason behind it, and he had no wish to explain.

Lyons waved him into a seat before taking his place behind his desk. "I only wish I had more for you." He said and held out the ME's report into Milo Kullen's death. "Kullen probably died the same time as Reid was dumped. COD was a single gunshot to the back of the head."

Gideon opened the file. It felt strange to do this again, when he had resolved never to touch another profile again, and yet as soon as Lyons had told him that Milo Kullen's body had been found, he knew that nothing would keep him away. He missed Spencer and not a day had passed since Gideon had left that he had not thought about the young man and worried about how he was coping. If this action was all he could do for Reid then he would do it, no matter what it cost him.

"He was killed execution style." He said as he read.

"I guess that doesn't give you much to profile."

"A profile is based just as much as what isn't at the scene as what is." Gideon told him. "We know from his release of Reid that this UnSub has no compulsion to kill."

"Yet." Lyons muttered.

"But he was compelled to end of the life of the young man he had teamed with." Gideon skimmed through the forensic evidence. "There's no ritual, no emotion to the killing. It's almost as if he appointed himself judge, jury and executioner and once he had made the decision that Milo was to die, he ended his life and bumped the body as if it meant nothing to him."

-o0o-

**27 June 2008**

**Kullen Residence, Coos Bay**

The apartment was dirty and strewn with rubbish, the furniture shabby and well used. The sofa had sunk in, its springs long broken, and it was covered in a thick layer of white cat hair. There was a large coffee table dominating the centre of the small room and it was littered in used mugs, each on a differing stage of mould growth. The TV was on, loudly playing _Another World_, in competition with the thumping base music coming from the apartment above. And in front of it, Milo's mother sat hunched in an old armchair.

Gideon left Lyons talking to her while he searched Milo's room. It had been left as the CSI's had abandoned it, drawers half open, bed upturned.

He went through everything that was left, mainly clothes and magazines and CD's. The most useful items, Milo's laptop and journals, had been taken away as evidence long ago.

But as time passed, Gideon had to concede defeat. There was nothing of use here.

He sat down on the bed, leaning back as the teenager might once have done. He thought of Milo, thought _as _Milo… This was a boy whose future had been snatched away. This room was all he had, in his bitterness and…

Gideon's eyes fell on the Varsity shirt. It had been screwed up and thrown in the corner of the bedroom.

Gideon got off the bed and picked it up, holding it so the words on the front were clearly visible.

Andrews-Marcello…

-o0o-

**BAU, Quantico, Virginia**

Garcia looked up. "The following day – June 28 – he's in Michigan. Gideon used his credit card to buy gas just 7 miles outside of the Andrews-Marcello University."

Rossi leant forward. "He made the connect?"

"Unlikely." Hotch decided. "Reid never studied at there. And he didn't inform Lyons."

Rossi frowned. "So…a fishing trip?"

-o0o-

**28 June 2008**

**Andrews-Marcello University, Michigan**

The dean of student services frowned as he offered Gideon a seat. "We did speak to police regarding Milo Kullen last year." He said. "I'm afraid there really isn't much more I can tell you."

"He was a good student?"

"Academically? Excellent. We had very high hopes for his future." He said.

"And outside of the classroom?"

"Milo had some trouble settling in. Some students do. I doubt he made a single friend and there were some…incidents on campus."

"Incidents?"

"Minor scuffles between him and the other students." The dean sounded hesitant. "His mother was in such poor health…" He shook his head. "It was easy to understand his frustration. He gave up a very bright future to look after her. And to be honest, I think he knew he would have to from the day he arrived. He was just marking time."

"I'd like to see his record."

"Yes, of course." The dean got up and opened one of his file drawers. It took him a couple of minutes to find what he was looking for but he finally handed Gideon a well-used file with Kullen's name on the front and allowed Gideon to take it into the library to read.

Over the next hour, Gideon read everything with a sense of growing disappointment. While the record confirmed Milo's unstable mind, it provided nothing to move forward with. He returned the file to the dean and allowed the man to escort him out.

The dean's small talk echoed along the hallowed halls of the prestigious university as they made their way out. It was on one of those walls that Gideon saw something that made him stop, the icy grip of recognition squeezing his lungs. "Professor Rhodes was one of your faculty?"

The dean frowned. "No, much to my disappointment, I should add." He looked at the photograph on the wall that had drawn Gideon's attention. "That was one of Professor Ballard's classes. Rhodes guest lectured for him."

"Did he meet Milo?"

The dean frowned. "It's quite possible. Milo took Ballard's class."

Gideon stared at the picture. A link, tenuous and vague and would probably come to nothing, but a link nonetheless.

-o0o-

"A _successful_ fishing trip." Garcia said as she wiped the map of the US of its red dots, zoomed in on the western half of the country and then lit up Michigan with a blue dot. "He next uses his credit card on route 64 outside of Richmond." The blue dot blipped up accusingly.

Rossi leant forward. "He's heading towards Everade University."

-o0o-

**29 June 2008**

**Everade University, Virginia**

Gideon watched Rhodes walk through the faculty car park. He had a bundle of papers under one arm and was talking on his cell phone. He appeared to be in a hurry even though it wasn't that late in the day.

The professor got into his car and the speed at which the man took off startled Gideon. Gideon started his own car and followed, trying not to alert Rhodes to his presence but to still keep pace with the red Kia that was blatantly flouting the campus "5mph" rule.

Once out on the main road, Rhodes put his foot down. Gideon cursed. Had the dean called Rhodes and warned him of Gideon's interest? Had he seen Gideon waiting for him?

He could only follow.

Over 40 minutes later, Gideon discovered the Professor's destination: West Richmond Medical Centre.

-o0o-

Rossi frowned. "Gideon made no report to Detective Lyons about his investigation." His words were slow, thinking aloud. "And if he did meet with Rhodes, did the professor convince him that he had nothing to do with Reid's assault?"

"According to his credit card usage, Gideon returned to Seattle after 2 weeks," Garcia said, "but he returned at least once a month for the next 6 months."

"Keeping tabs on Rhodes?" Rossi wondered. "Or maintaining contact?"

Garcia looked startled. "Contact?"

Hotch frowned. "Where else did Gideon go in that time?"

Still troubled, Garcia began tapping on her keyboard. "He also made a number of purchases in Oregon."

"In Coos Bay?"

"Portland." She brought up a website. "The main office of the New Beginnings adoption agency is based there. They arranged Gideon's adoption."

"Has Rhodes mentioned meeting Gideon?" Rossi asked.

"Rhodes is refusing to talk to anyone other than Reid."

"Like that would happen." Rossi said sarcastically.

Hotch leaned forward, staring at the clusters of blue dots that spelt out Gideon's life. "We need to know if they met and what happened if they did. And right now, we can't ask Gideon…" He got out his cell phone and scrolled down the list of names until he got to Holloway's then looked up at Rossi. "Maybe Rhodes will talk to me." He said and pressed the call button.

-o0o-

**30 June 2008**

**Rhodes Residence, Richmond, Virginia**

One of the small windows at the back of the house had been poorly closed. It was the work of moments to jiggle the frame enough so that the catch slipped off. It took a little longer to reach in and unlock the main window. His arm was a little too short for the purpose but with time and determination Gideon's fingertips finally got the window open.

This wasn't how he had planned to do this, but he no longer had the weight of the FBI behind him. The request he had made at Everade for an interview had been refused, the university citing 'personal issues' as an excuse for the professor's unavailability. That, at least, was probably true. Rhodes' had spent a great deal of time at the medical centre.

Sitting outside the man's home, watching him leave and intending to follow, Gideon had turned his possible actions over in his mind. Inform Lyons? Report his suspicions to the FBI? Go on?

"This is the right course of action…there's no question…" He wasn't aware that the litany was spoken aloud.

And almost without his conscious decision, Gideon found himself breaking into the house.

He stood in Kimball Rhodes' study, surrounded by books and papers. He had long practice of allowing his eyes to closely examine a crime scene, in the smallest detail, without touching a single item. This was an organised man. He had access to both Reid and Kullen. The books on the shelves spoke of his medical knowledge.

And in the bottom drawer of his desk there were two packs of medication: Rohypnol and Viagra.

There was a sharp bang, a door slammed closed with considerable force.

Gideon looked up.

Rhodes stood in front of the closed study door, fingers splayed against the wood, and his eyes full of rage.

.


	24. Gideon's Soul: Part Two

_A big thank you to everyone who took the time to leave reviews, especially Naz. It's you guys who keep me going._

**20****th**** April 2011**

**Mercer Island, Washington**

Rossi stood on the doorstep of Gideon's home and pushed the bell. From the outside, the house, like the others in the neighbourhood, looked neat and welcoming and spoke, if not of wealth, then of a very comfortable standard of living. The door opened. The man who answered had a small tow headed child on his hip and Rossi instantly recognised him.

"Jason Gideon?" Rossi said as he held out his ID. "My name is David Rossi. I'm from the Behavioural Analysis Unit of the FBI."

"I know who you are." Gideon replied, his tone unwelcoming. The child blinked and looked from his father to the newcomer and back again, clearly feeling the tension.

"May I come in?" Rossi anticipated an excuse and spoke first. "Please, it's important and concerns a young man I think we both care about: Dr Reid."

Gideon paused a moment then held open the door. He showed Rossi into the living area then excused himself and carried the child further into the house.

Rossi busied himself examining the books on the shelf, every inch the polite guest waiting on his host. They were mostly ornithology and archaeology, with some classic fiction mixed in. None of the books reflected the vast wealth of behavioural science knowledge that Gideon possessed. Rossi took in the pictures of birds on the walls and the many photos of the child in various stages of babyhood dotted around and all the while listened to the faint conversation going on in the kitchen. Gideon was asking someone called Maria to take Spencer to Burke for the day. He received both a heavily accented "again?" and a more childish cheer.

Gideon appeared a few moments later. His eyes were guarded.

"It's good to see you again, Jason." Rossi said and elaborated when Gideon frowned in confusion. "You came to my first book signing. We exchanged opinions on the identity of the Blue Ridge Killer."

"That was a long time ago."

"Let's just say you made an impression." Rossi replied. "I've read a great deal of your work."

"I've read your books." Gideon said. "I can't say I enjoyed them."

"I'd be worried if you did." Rossi countered.

The standoff was abruptly severed by the child running back into the room with a green frog shaped backpack clasped in his hands. He ran to the shelves, made a great show of selecting something and then pulled a large heavy tome from the shelf. Rossi caught the title – "_The Unfeathered Bird_" – as the boy man-handled it into the pack.

"Nice bag." Rossi said to him.

The boy looked up and broke into a wide, wide grin. "It's not…" he paused to take a lungful of air, "anno-tommy-ickly corr-rect," he began, "but I like it."

Hearing the long and complicated word coming from the lips of such a small child jolted Rossi into making a very grave mistake. "I see he takes after his namesake." He joked and then cursed himself inwardly for his stupidity. That single sentence was as good as admitting outright that Rossi had checked up on Gideon, something he'd had no intention of sharing.

Gideon hid his anger well, but Rossi could still see it in the tension of his jaw.

The child quickly hugged his father, heaved the backpack onto his shoulders and hurried out the door with a "bye, daddy!" A few seconds later, the front door slammed.

Into the silence that followed, Rossi said, "cute kid."

The compliment, intended to relax Gideon, seemed to have the opposite effect. His dark eyes were intense.

"What is this about, Agent?" Gideon demanded. "If you've come for a consult then I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed. That part of my life is behind me."

"And yet you involved yourself in the kidnapping and assault of Noah Layton." Rossi replied. "And to the detriment of that case."

"I wanted to help Reid."

"Did you?" Rossi took a few steps around the living room. "You almost derailed the investigation." He paused and repeated. "Almost."

If Gideon had anything to hide then he succeeded completely. Nothing showed on his face.

Rossi decided to push. "We've arrested the man who assaulted Reid." Rossi paid attention to Gideon's micro-expressions, looking for a tell. "Professor Kimball Rhodes."

-o0o-

**J. Edgar Hoover Building, Washington DC**

Rhodes shuffled into the interview room locked in chains. He cast a look of distain at Agent Holloway before settling his focus on Hotch. Aaron met his eyes and held them as Rhodes was pushed down into the chair opposite the two men and his chains were fixed to the table.

Hotch fought down a surge of anger, tensing his muscles against the fierce urge to physically hurt the man in front of him; the man who had been responsible for the pain and trauma that Reid had struggled with over the years. Hotch could remember how fragile Reid had been in the weeks after the assault, how long it had taken him to heal and how the years had passed but the shadows left in the young man's eyes had never really lifted. And most of all, he remembered feeling proud of the young man's inner strength.

Hotch pushed a picture towards Rhodes. "Do you know this man?"

Rhodes barely glanced at the photo. He said nothing.

"Jason Gideon." Hotch stated. "You've referenced his work in your research so I assume that you do."

Still Rhodes was silent.

"He visited you in June of 2008, didn't he?" Hotch watched the man carefully.

Rhodes' expression did not change but his eyes… They never left Hotch's face and the professor did not blink or flinch and yet Hotch read a flicker of concealed surprise in them. And was that interest in there too?

"Did you talk about Spencer Reid?"

Rhodes smiled slightly, reacting to the name. Definitely interest.

"He questioned you. An experienced FBI agent trained to detect lies and deceit and yet you convinced him of your innocence." Hotch schooled his expression to hide the ugliness he felt at having to flatter this man. But it was necessary. "Gideon is a brilliant profiler and it takes a very skilled man to conceal the truth from him."

Rhodes didn't react.

Hotch sat back in his chair. "Maybe you just got lucky." He said dismissively, taking away the admiration coldly and hoping Rhodes would want it back. "Maybe you bribed him like a common criminal or perhaps Gideon didn't meet you at all."

"I met him." Rhodes said then fell silent again.

Hotch waited, offering nothing, gambling that interest he had seen would finally get Rhodes' talking.

Nothing.

"I can see that you want to tell me." Hotch finally said.

The moment broken, Rhodes sat back in his chair. "No," he replied and fell back on his usual refrain. "But I will tell Spencer."

-o0o-

"Professor Kimball Rhodes." Rossi said as he watched Gideon's reaction closely.

Gideon felt his heart lurch painfully in chest. He didn't bother to conceal the shock. It was natural and honest and would have come just the same without...

…Without the guilt…the deceit…

But mingled in that wash of emotion was another: relief. It was thin and terrible but there all the same; relief that he wouldn't have to live with hiding the truth and his guilt anymore. He felt weak in its wake and he knew it would damn him.

-o0o-

**30 June 2008**

**Rhodes Residence, Richmond, Virginia**

Rhodes's hand dropped from the door. He casually locked the study door and pocketed the key. Then he turned back to his intruder and stepped further into the room. "Jason Gideon." He reached one end of his desk. "You know, it's considered polite to knock before entering."

Gideon tensed, angry. "Do not lecture me about manners."

"Do not break into my house." Rhodes's eyes flickered to the top drawer of his desk and then quickly away. It was not fast enough. Gideon saw the intention and knew what he wanted, because he'd seen it during his search. They both moved at the same time. Gideon was closer and he snatched at the drawer, aware of Rhodes lunging forward as well, but getting there first. But the act of opening the drawer slowed him down, by milliseconds, but enough for Rhodes fingers to close around the single game-changing item they both sought.

Rhodes held up his small Smith & Wesson, pointing it directly at Gideon's heart. No doubt the man felt he had won. But all the while Gideon had breath to speak with, he was wrong.

"It was you." Gideon said.

The professor obviously decided to play dumb. "What was me?" Rhodes asked.

"Coos Bay. May 2007."

"I haven't been in the Bay Area in years." Rhodes replied. "Is that date supposed to mean something?"

"On May 11 2007, you drugged one of your own students and you watched as Milo Kullen sexually assaulted him." Gideon told him.

"I don't know anyone named Milo Kullen."

"He was a student at the Andrews-Marcello University. He attended the classes you guest-lectured." Gideon spoke as if the gun, and the danger it threatened, did not exist. "Milo was an angry and confused young man, easy to manipulate. He grew up in a single parent home. His mother was too ill to properly care for him, leaving him vulnerable to abuse." Under all the anger Gideon held on to was a pathetic shred of sympathy for the boy who had hurt Reid and he hated himself for it, hated this moment for bringing that part of his soul back again – the part that made him understand these monsters – the part that he'd left behind the day he walked out on the BAU. "You were probably not the first man to use that against him. But you were the last." Gideon looked the man in the eyes. "Because you killed him."

-o0o-

**J. Edgar Hoover Building, Washington DC.**

"Spencer Reid is a material witness in a federal investigation." Hotch told Rhodes. "He will not be allowed into this room."

Then inspiration hit and he glanced quickly but meaningfully at the mirrored observation window. Rhodes followed his line of sight.

"Not in this room." Rhodes repeated. "But he's here?"

"Agent Reid's whereabouts are none of your concern." Holloway snapped, quickly picking up on Hotch's intention and providing sterling back-up, playing the role of a superior angered by a slip.

Rhodes tugged on the chains. "Let me up."

Hotch nodded to the guard, who unlatched the chains from the table. Rhodes got up and shuffled over to the glass. He stared at his own reflection.

"Hello, Spencer."

Hotch didn't smile in triumph and kept his tone completely neutral. "Reid said it's been 2 years since you last met."

Rhodes turned. "Oh, I last saw Spencer at a Dr Blake's lecture six months ago. He didn't see me." He looked back at the glass. "You'd put on weight and cut your hair." He said to the unseen Reid he thought lay beyond his reflection. "It didn't suit you."

-o0o-

**Gideon Residence, Mercer Island, Washington**

Rossi watched as Gideon sank down onto the sofa, clearly shocked by the identity of Reid's assailant. It seemed no more and no less than that expressed by all the team members.

"I recommended his classes to Reid." Gideon admitted. "I encouraged him to attend." The bitterness in his voice was genuine.

"You couldn't know this would happen." The platitude came automatically.

"I was a profiler."

"Profiles can be wrong." Rossi stated. "_Profilers_ can be wrong." He took a step closer. "You were wrong about Rhodes when you first met and you were wrong about him in June 2008."

Gideon's head snapped up.

"We know you went to Coos Bay when Milo Kullen's body was discovered and we know that you visited the professor after talking to the dean at the Andrews-Marcello. You had started to make a connection between Milo Kullen, Kimball Rhodes and our Doctor Reid. The question is: why did you stop?"

-o0o-

**30 June 2008**

**Rhodes Residence, Richmond, Virginia**

"I've never even met this Milo Kullen!" Rhodes snapped. "I certainly didn't murder him!"

Gideon ignored him. "Was it easy to convince him to replicate the acts you preformed on him with Reid?" He asked. It had been so long since he had done this – confronting an UnSub – and yet it flowed so naturally. Like blood…

Like Sarah's blood…

"Did he protest at first?" Gideon frowned, watching the subtle play of anger on Rhodes' face. "He was excited, wasn't he? He didn't need convincing at all. He wanted to do it."

"I do not know anyone called Milo Kullen." Rhodes said; his words coming on huffs of air as he visibly struggled with his anger, fighting with his urge to respond to Gideon's words.

"Did watching the assault make you feel powerful?" Gideon demanded. "Did it excite you?"

"Stop it." It was a hiss, slipped out by mistake.

Gideon pressed on, knowing now there was crack to push again. "It wasn't like you imagined, was it? It didn't excite you enough. Is that when you made the decision to execute Milo? Did he do it wrong? Is that why you joined in?" The words were acid to Gideon. He could feel them burning into his very soul. "To show him how it was done?" Gideon offered a smile of enlightenment. None of the ugliness he felt showed on his face. "He didn't need any help, did he? Milo got to enjoy it more than you."

The gun began to shake. "Shut up!" Rhodes' voice was harsh bark as if it had been ripped unbidden from him.

"Was he better?" Gideon asked. "Did he get Spencer to climax and you couldn't, no matter what you did? And Milo got the release you craved and couldn't get, didn't he? Could a BOY dominate another boy better than you?" He took a step forward, completely without fear. "That's why you killed Milo, isn't it, because it was YOUR fantasy and he stole it from you."

Rhodes made an almost inhuman sound and his trembling finger closed on the trigger. But Gideon easily knocked his arm aside, spoiling his aim. The crack of the bullet leaving the weapon filled the room. Gideon flung himself against Rhodes, hands over the professor's wrists, thumb nails digging in to the soft and delicate veins there, pushing in hard enough to draw blood but the pain wasn't enough for Rhodes to drop the gun. Rhodes was not an especially fit man but he was tall and strongly built and the struggle was fierce. But anger fuelled Gideon on. The hate that he felt for this man, for taking Reid and subjecting him to an ordeal he could never truly recover from because even the healing had left scars behind, deep inside, that would not fade.

And he hated Rhodes for bringing him here, to this room, to this place where he could feel sympathy for a boy who had delighted in taking pictures of a dear friend's suffering, where everything he thought he had left behind in the BAU had come back to him, quickly and naturally and so, so _easily_ and it was wrong. He shouldn't be this. He _couldn't_ be this person anymore.

And he couldn't stop.

Beneath him, Rhodes' face grew bloodied and the soft tissue of the professor's wrists morphed and warped in the struggle to the even more delicate skin around the man's neck.

"Stop…" Rhodes wheezed.

Gideon blinked at the sight of his bloody thumbs digging into the hollow of Rhodes' throat. When did he…? His own heart thudded in his chest and his heard his own voice ask as if from far away. "Did Reid beg you to stop?"

"There's something…must…" But the life was going from his body. Gideon could feel it and he suddenly felt a wave of nausea so strong he was almost gagging on it.

His fingers relaxed.

Weakly, the professor uttered his last word before slipping into unconsciousness. Gideon barely heard it and was sure he had heard wrongly for it made no sense.

"Baby…"

-o0o-

**20****th**** April 2011**

**Mercer Island, Washington**

Gideon closed his eyes and rubbed his fingers against his forehead. He could remember the rage he felt in Rhodes study but it still felt unreal, unconnected to him. The events that followed held the same dreamlike quality and he knew now that he hadn't been well. He had felt like that before, when he'd suffered a breakdown and again when he walked out on the BAU leaving only his gun, his badge and a letter to the only person who mattered to him.

And by the time he had come to his senses, when he should have spoken out…

He loved that little boy too much. He was all he had. So he had fled again, leaving the country in his shame and taken the boy to England. He should never have come back.

Gideon drew a breath, aware that Rossi's question hung in the air. _Why did you stop the investigation?_

Here was the chance, offered freely and easily to make things right.

"Because I couldn't do it anymore." He admitted. It was the truth. The truth now, when he'd walked out of his cabin years ago and when he'd had Rhodes' throat under his hands. He looked up at Rossi. "I don't want to understand them anymore."

"Them?"

"Serial killers. Rapists. Abusers." The words filled Gideon with disgust. "They de-humanise their victims…"

"And we humanise the killers." Rossi finished.

"I cannot look at them anymore and see their humanity and feel…sorry for them."

"So you walked away from the investigation." Rossi said. There was an edge to his voice that suggested anger. "I get that. But why didn't you pass on your suspicions to Detective Lyons or to us?"

Gideon's eyes fell on a picture of his son. "I spoke with Rhodes a few times." He heard himself say. "He didn't fit the profile." That was the only lie he told. "I'm sorry."

-o0o-

**15 July 2008**

**West Richmond Medical Centre, Richmond, Virginia**

The NICU unit was warm and the harsh overhead lights that filled the rest of the hospital were absent here. Instead the bulk of the illumination came from the large windows. Sunlight streamed in, bathing the incubators with a golden glow.

The tiny scrap of life in the incubator in front of Gideon looked like a newly hatched bird, thin almost translucent skin that showed every tiny vein covering stick like bones. The long thick tubes of the CPAP that covered its mouth and nose was almost as big as the baby's head.

The neonatal nurse smiled encouragingly at Gideon. "You can touch him."

"Him?" Gideon repeated.

"It's a boy." This simple sentence sounded harsh.

Gideon looked up at the man who had broken the moment with his voice. Professor Rhodes was clothed in a hospital gown, his face and neck blackened and bruised, his forehead stitched. Injuries Gideon barely remembered inflicting in his rage.

"Lucy wanted a girl first."

The sunlight glittered on the medallion that hung around his neck; the necklace from the photographs that had haunted Gideon every night since he had first seen them. When he closed his eyes, those pictures, Sarah's blood, the faces of the saved souls that he had listed and doomed to Frank's wrath, the FBI agents who had been killed… so many… They all came back to him. He would never be rid of them no matter how far he ran or how fast he went.

"Here." The nurse opened the door of the incubator and smiled encouragingly.

"He's almost certainly brain damaged." Rhodes said. "He was born at 25 weeks gestation and suffered an intraventricular haemorrhage and sepsis."

"We don't know that for sure, sir." The nurse told him, half way between anger at the man and a soothing, comforting tone.

Rhodes ignored her. "I have signed a DNR."

Gideon reached in and brushed the tip of his finger against the boy's hand. They were the same size.

Now that he knew the location of the child and his safety was secured, he should tell the nurse to call the police.

The baby's eyes opened, lash less lids crinkling back.

Gideon had only gone through with this charade merely to ensure the child, if there really was one, was unharmed.

Four tiny, delicate fingers and one minute thumb closed around his fingertip.

"Do we have a deal?" Rhodes asked.

Gideon closed his eyes and for once all he could see was reddish black and the only image his mind threw up was the one in front of him now. The tiny infant, born too soon…

He knew that there was only one answer: the right answer, the _just_ answer.

No.

He should call the FBI immediately. Rhodes would be put in prison and his son - this tiny life - would be made a ward of court. Gideon's testimony may lead to a DNA test – and it might not, human rights were human rights – but that would only determine genetic parentage. _Legal_ parenthood was entirely different. And Gideon wasn't convinced by Rhodes insistence that Reid was the father. That had to be a distraction, a bluff…

And if he wasn't…

This little boy would be fostered out until the trial was over. Perhaps adopted after his father was convicted, but…was there enough evidence to secure a conviction? They had only possession of Viagra and Rohypnol, the very drugs used in the assault, one grainy picture of a medallion and a tenuous connection to both Reid and Milo… Was that enough?

If Rhodes walked free, he would take the boy regardless of whether he really cared for him. He could disappear forever.

Gideon knew the answer, even against all of that, should be no.

And yet, even with a thousand chances, a million, he knew in his heart that his reply would always be the same.

A life for a life…

How biblical.

This life for Rhodes' freedom…

There was nothing holy about this agreement. This was a deal with the devil.

May God forgive him.

"Yes."

-o0o-

**J Edgar Hoover Building, Washington DC**

Ten long minutes ticked by. Holloway had excused himself, mouthing the words _June 2008_ to Hotch, and hadn't returned, leaving Hotch alone with Rhodes and his single guard.

But the professor never moved from the mirror.

"Gideon was Reid's mentor."

Rhodes ignored Hotch's words. He continued to stare at his own reflection, convinced that Reid stood behind there listening.

"You were also Reid's mentor."

Rhodes chuckled, looking around at Hotch. "Everyone was Reid's mentor to some degree. I'm sure the man who fills up the coffee machine in your BAU is a mentor to Spencer in some way or other. He needs it." He turned back to the mirror. "I never met anyone who knew so much and learned so quickly and yet was still in such desperate need of instruction."

"Is that what Lucy Watkins saw too?"

A thin smile appeared. "Perhaps."

The door opened and Holloway entered, clutching a file to his chest. He tapped it and looked significantly at Hotch behind Rhodes' back. Hotch frowned. His superior held a police file.

"Jason Gideon visited you in June of 2008." Hotch said. "Did you talk about Reid?"

"Jason did ask me some questions a few years ago. I forget what they were."

"In the same month of the same year, you were found beaten in the study of your home." Holloway said and opened the police file. Pages and victim shots spilled out across the table. "Your assailant was never caught."

Hotch felt cold inside. He stared at the police report. The date of the assault fit perfectly.

"The police believe that you disturbed a burglary."

Rhodes didn't move.

John sat forward. "Why don't you tell us what really happened?"

-o0o-

**Behavioural Analysis Unit, FBI, Quantico, Virginia**

"Kid!"

Morgan hurried after the young man walking towards the elevators. Reid stopped and turned and Morgan had to force himself not to react to the fact that Reid looked about ready to fall over.

"You're leaving?"

"Lowe and Manson have no more questions for me and I've finished my paperwork." He told him. "Hotch told me to take the rest of the week off."

"At least let me drive you."

The young man frowned. "I'm not sure the government is paying you its tax dollars to be my chauffer for the day."

Morgan chuckled; relieved to hear that Reid's sense of humour had survived.

"I was going to use the Metro."

"It's been a while since I took the subway." Morgan told him. "It could be interesting."

Reid's shoulders slumped, sceptically. "You hate the subway."

"Maybe I think it's time to reassess my opinion."

Reid looked even more sceptical.

"Face it, Kid; I am not letting you go home alone." Morgan said. "It's either me or Garcia. Your choice."

-o0o-

John Holloway walked at Hotch's side. He had grown to like and respect Aaron over the last few days and was glad that Spencer had such a dedicated and strong leader. But the man was difficult to read.

"You got more today than I did in twice as long." John said. He had been impressed by Hotch's ingenuity in getting Rhodes to believe that Spencer was in the observation room.

"I got confirmation that Rhodes spoke to Gideon. That's all." He sounded angry. "I'd like to keep a copy of that file."

John frowned. The news of the assault on Rhodes had obviously unnerved Hotch. Did he really believe Gideon was responsible? Holloway knew the date was co-incidental and he could certainly understand the motivation that might drive the man to do that but that was a long way to believing it. Holloway had simply wanted to unsettle Rhodes with the reminder of that particular time and perhaps get more than Rhodes intended to give.

But it was Aaron who was unsettled.

"Of course." John replied. Then stopped walking, forcing the other man to halt and face him or risk passing him by. "Do you really believe that Gideon would do that?"

Hotch looked back at the interview room. There was something dark in his eyes. "Knowing what Rhodes did to Reid," he asked, "would you?"

John's heart skipped in his chest. But the question was rhetorical, for Hotch simply bid him goodbye and walked away. And for that John was grateful, for there were things that one should never admit aloud…

-o0o-

The subway train was packed with returning workers. Morgan had a choice between being pressed against Reid's bones or against the sweaty bulk of an extremely overweight man in a Thailand t-shirt and took the former. He was standing close enough to smell the woodsy balm that Reid used to shave with and the feel the heat of his skin. Or rather the coolness of him – cooler than Morgan at least.

Reid had fallen silent during the journey, lost in his own head, and Morgan understood that and let him have the time to think. It was hard to watch the young man try to sort through the jumble of events and know there was nothing he could do to help. He had listened to Reid talk about Lucy Watkins and knew there was so much left unsaid. He had at least answered the important question, the only real question that had mattered to Morgan, and the answer had been no. Lucy had not used her position and Reid's vulnerability to seduce the young man into bed, yet she had clearly made moves to drive a wedge between Reid and the only support he had: his mother. And she had succeeded. Classic grooming strategy.

Did she simply not have time to complete her goal?

The train stopped at a station and the occupants jostled them as people got off and on. There was still no hope of grabbing a seat. The large man shuffled closer to Morgan and he in turn practically moved into Reid's clothes with him. God, he _hated_ the subway.

The train moved off again and the whirr pulled Morgan back into his thoughts.

Lucy Watkins had left Cal Tech after only one semester and had transferred to the Andrews-Marcello where she would meet Milo and Rhodes and the die would then be cast…

Had there been a reason she left? Did someone see her and Reid together…?

Diana…?

Who would know? Morgan frowned and remembered the thin man wrongly accused of Noah Layton's assault.

Matthew…

-o0o-

Rossi sat on the big and beautifully soft first class seat; head pillowed against the very finest Egyptian cotton and watched the sky drift past. The taste of the fine merlot that had been served with dinner – a superb beef wellington – was still on his lips. Money could buy a lot of things.

But as he turned Gideon's words over in his head, he found that it could not buy him peace.

-o0o-

Morgan walked Reid to his door, feeling as nervous as a high school kid taking his first ever date back home. The young man was still quiet.

"C'mon, kid, talk to me."

"I don't know what to say." Reid admitted. "I can quote the statistics on the conviction rates in sexual assault cases, the average length of the trial based on similar cases and calculate a probable sentence length based on an algor-."

"I just wanna know if you're OK, Kid."

Spencer thought for a long moment, and then shook his head slightly.

Damn. There was nothing he could say. So Morgan did the only thing he could do, put a hand on the back of Reid's neck and tugged him into his arms. The kid was a little stiff at first but quickly relaxed, resting his forehead on Morgan's shoulder.

After a moment, he patted Reid's back and broke the embrace. Spencer looked even more exhausted than he had a moment ago and Morgan wondered when he'd last had a good night's sleep.

"Get some rest, Kid." He told him. "I'll be by to pick you up when you go back to work, waste of tax dollars or not, all right?"

Reid nodded and Morgan turned to go. He got about seven strides away from Reid's front door when the young man's voice called out.

"Morgan?"

He turned back.

"Thanks." Reid looked down at his feet. "You kept your promise."

He broke into a smile. "Yeah I did, didn't I?"

Reid returned the grin with one of his own, a wide, wide Julia Roberts smile that Morgan hadn't seen in too long.

"See you tomorrow, kid." He said and began to walk down the steps of Reid's apartment building.

_You kept your promise…_

The words had sounded so good to his ears.

_You kept your promise…_

**_So do I…_** Rhodes' voice came back to him.

Morgan stopped on the stairs, frowning at a brief passing sensation. But then it was gone and he continued down.

-o0o-

Rossi handed Hotch a glass of bourbon and they both sat down on Rossi's fine leather sofa. It was long past midnight but neither felt tired.

"He clearly blames himself for encouraging Reid to take Rhodes' classes." Rossi said. They had been making small talk for the last 10 minutes but now Rossi came to the subject his friend was really here to discuss: Jason Gideon.

Hotch frowned. "Reid never mentioned Gideon. He told us Rhodes introduced himself."

"Gideon's guilt was genuine." Rossi told him. "And Reid _was_ hiding something."

"Reid told Morgan that Lucy was instrumental in his decision to have  
his mother committed." Hotch replied.

"I can see why he wouldn't want to discuss that." Rossi admitted. "He must have trusted her a great deal."

Hotch understood the code. "Reid says they didn't sleep together."

Rossi took a swallow of his drink and let the silence do the answering for him.

"Agent Holloway told me something I didn't know today." Hotch admitted. "Rhodes was beaten on the 30th of June 2008."

"Virtually the same day he spoke to Gideon."

"When I spoke to Morgan, he remembered that Rhodes' classes were cancelled. He and Reid were in Jamaica at the time."

"I remember." Rossi said. "Do you think it was Gideon?"

Hotch sat back. "There was a moment today, when Rhodes was staring at me…" He sighed. "I think it's possible that Gideon attacked Rhodes."

"Do you think that's why Gideon backed off," Rossi said. "Rhodes threatened to tell the police."

"I don't know. But with Rhodes refusing to talk…"

"We may only hear the truth when he's on the witness stand." Rossi finished.

-o0o-

**4 November 2011**

Gideon signed for the envelope and thanked the courier. He pushed his thumb under the seal and tore the paper, aware of Spencer standing on tiptoe trying to see what it was. He pulled out the contents and felt the blood drain from his face.

The little boy wobbled on his toes, bumping into Gideon's leg. "I wanna see!"

Gideon let the paper lower, more in shock than to allow his son to see it.

"You are…h...her-" The little boy read.

"Hereby…" Gideon told him and then finished, "YOU ARE HEREBY COMMANDED to appear and testify before the Grand Jury of the United States Federal Court at the place, date and time specified below."

The little boy looked up at him, unable to comprehend the meaning of the words.

"It's a subpoena."

.

.


	25. The Beginning: Part One

**.**

**The Beginning**

**8 December 2004**

**Bend, Oregon**

The cruel easterly wind bit at his fingers but Spencer did not lower his hands. He took another step forward, eyes never leaving the shaking form clinging to the railings that ran around the edge of the rooftop. Bright neon lights from the billboard atop the neighbouring office block cast the boy into a black shadow and the intensity of the illumination hurt Reid's eyes but he didn't dare look away.

"Why are you doing this to me?" The boy wailed, the force of the words leaving his lips making his entire body waver on the ledge, and yet the sound was almost lost in the jumble of noises from the city below and the harsh whistle of the wind passing over the air ducts.

"I just want to talk to you, Daniel." Reid took another step.

Daniel looked down at the ground far below, the black silhouette of his body moving like a player in a shadow puppet theatre.

"I know you didn't mean to hurt Trudy." Reid told him. "It was a mistake. She and Mary didn't understand what you were trying to do." He took another step forward, close enough now to brush his fingertips against the railings if he reached out. One more step would put him within reaching distance of Daniel Price…within saving distance… "But I understand."

Daniel looked up.

Reid took another step and the features of Daniel's thin and pockmarked face came into focus. Blue neon bathed his hair and tinted his skin.

"Reid." Hotch's voice. It was soft, barely heard, but full of warning.

He could not afford to heed it. "You wanted to forgive them."

Daniel shuddered, eyes locking with Reid's. A glint of moisture tracked down his cheek. He let go of the railing.

And just a simply as that, the boy was gone.

-o0o-

**Emily:**

"_We are healed of a suffering only by experiencing it to the full._

Marcel Proust"

**3 November 2011**

**Behavioural Analysis Unit, Quantico, Virginia**

"I would say a penny for them," Rossi said as he sat on the edge of Morgan's desk, "but I'm all out of small change."

Morgan looked up.

"Your thoughts," Rossi told him. Then he looked over at the empty desk that Morgan had been staring at for the last 15 minutes. "But I think I can guess. Reid?"

"He'll be back tomorrow." Morgan said. "And the trial starts next week…"

"Reid doesn't talk to me quite as much as he does to you or JJ or Garcia…but when I last spoke to him he sounded prepared for what comes next and he knows we're all here to support him."

Rossi watched Morgan sort through that sentence in his head. And realised he'd made an error in his assumption. "But…you already knew that." He frowned and watched Morgan's eyes return to Reid's desk. "But this is about Reid?"

Morgan took a breath. "Something keeps gnawing at me. Something Rhodes said. And every time I put it aside, it just keeps coming back." He shook his head. "It's probably nothing."

A thread of concern wound its way around his guts. "Why don't you let me be the judge of that?"

Morgan straightened up in his chair. "About a year after Reid's abduction I made him a promise that we'd catch whoever did this."

Rossi frowned. "You kept that promise."

"And when I arrested Rhodes, I looked him right in the eye and told him that I keep my promises." Morgan looked up at his superior. "And he looked right back at me and said that he did as well." Morgan sat back in his chair and shrugged. "I know he meant everything he'd done to Reid. That it was his way of acknowledging it and twisting the knife…"

Rossi considered Morgan's professional opinion and agreed with it. Rhodes had never acknowledged his own psychopathy, hiding from his true nature by deluding himself that everything he had done had been mission-based: fulfilling the last wishes of a dying woman. Morgan interpretation was sound. He should not be second guessing himself. Rossi looked round at Morgan. "But?"

Morgan's phone began to ring and as he reached for it, he shook his head in frustration. "If that's the right answer, why does it keep coming back like it's not?" He put the receiver to his head. "Morgan."

Rossi stood up; his eyes drawn as Morgan's were to Reid's empty desk.

Morgan was right. It probably _was_ nothing.

And yet…

-o0o-

**4 November 2011**

**BAU, Quantico, Virginia**

Garcia clutched a large mug of cocoa to her chest as she watched Hotch and Rossi walked together, locked in conversation, to their offices. The plastic band of the anteater shaped ring that she wore on her finger made a _tick-tick-tick_ noise as she tapped out her indecision against the china glaze.

If there had been no else involved in her…problem…it would have been easy to turn to her superiors. But Kevin was directly responsible and at least 2 of his co-workers had, if not physically assisted, then very obviously turned an extremely blind eye at the relevant moments. She was prepared to face any and all consequences for her actions and had readily accepted that from the start. But the thought that she might drag others down with her…

"Hot chocolate for breakfast?" A voice came from behind her. "It must be serious."

Garcia jolted, almost spilling the cocoa. She turned.

"Sorry, did I make you jump?" Emily apologised.

"No."

"It's OK, I'm used to it. Startling people, the shocked faces… Agent Collins, from records, you know the one with the big…" She waved a hand in front of her face.

"Glasses." Garcia supplied.

"Nose." Emily said at the same time. "When he first saw me, he did the best double take I have ever seen and walked straight into the potted plant outside of Strauss' office. He got tangled up, leaves and compost everywhere."

"I was wondering where that went." Garcia said, aware of the hollowness of her own voice. "I liked that plant."

Emily frowned. "Hey, are you OK?"

"I put seven marsh mellows in here." Garcia told her and held out her mug. "So no. I'm not."

Then she took a deep breath, held her head up high and began towards Hotch's office.

-o0o-

**Bennington Sanatorium,**

**Las Vegas, Nevada**

Spencer watched his mother frowning down at the scrabble letters in front of her. The game was in its final stages, with only a handful of letters left, and their scores were almost evenly matched. His mother was winning. She often did when they played this version of the game, the version they had made up many years ago where all the words were written in old English. And since there hadn't been any recognised spelling before the advent of the dictionary, any letter combination for any word was acceptable providing it had appeared somewhere, in some text, between the 14th and 16th Centuries.

The length of the game was testament to both his and his mother's distraction. Diana had not employed the careful planning tactics she normally did so that the letters she used were placed where they would be no use to him.

She was worried about him.

His mother had guessed there was something wrong the moment she laid eyes on him. She was always so perceptive during her lucid phases. But 5 days later, he still wasn't able to tell her. He didn't know where to begin. With Lucy? With Rhodes? With the sexual assault that he had never mentioned? Or some vague place in the middle just to explain that when he went home to Virginia he wouldn't be returning to work right away. He would be stepping into the witness box to give evidence in the most important trial of his life and he wouldn't be going in there as a federal agent, he was going in as the victim. A jury of his peers would listen to him, would see the photographic evidence and…

Spencer was having difficulty seeing beyond that, even though he knew logically that post-sentencing, he would be back at the BAU, at his desk, at the round table, on the jet, in front of maps and whiteboards… His life would continue and the Coos Bay part of it would be Over and In The Past in a way that it hadn't been before.

There was just so much to say that now _couldn't_ be said. It was too late and become too complicated.

All the truly terrible events of his life, she did not know.

Diana finally put down her tiles, making the word "_fayre" _with a triple score on the Y.

Spencer carefully laid out his remaining letter tiles and finally admitted to himself as he did so that this event too would be lost to her. And he would face it as he had faced everything: alone.

-o0o-

Hotch got up from his chair and moved swiftly around his desk. "You hacked the files a federal investigation?"

"I'm sorry." Garcia raised her hands and waved them about. "I was just so worried about Reid. And when I get worried I can't think straight and I just wanna help my babies and…"

"If you were discovered, it could comprise the prosecution's case."

"No one else knows. I made sure of that." She told him. "I know it was wrong but I…" Her voice was tight with emotion, "I just needed to check their technician's work because _**I**_ do this tech stuff for this team and I know that sounds, like, super-possessive but that's just the way I feel and I can't turn it off." Anxiety filled her face. "I don't know this Andrew Gleeson, I don't know his work and if I don't know someone, I can't trust them and if I can't trust them I don't want them working for my family and I couldn't take the chance that he missed something." Garcia said hurriedly.

"And did he miss something?"

She looked ashamed. "No."

Yet she wouldn't be here if it were nothing.

"But there is something?"

"The file that Rhodes kept on the fertility clinics that he used is much smaller than it should be. That happens when a portion has been deleted. Andrew wasn't able to recover it."

"And you were?"

"No." She admitted. "Maybe if I had direct access…"

Hotch thought a moment and his silence seemed to fray Garcia's nerves even more and she took up a little pacing. "I just can't stop thinking about what was deleted. I can't get the pictures that Milo Kullen took out of my head and I'm so afraid there was more and Reid's going to have to see them. And I don't know if I should warn him or-"

"How likely is it that the files could be recovered?"

"It…isn't likely, sir." Garcia admitted. "The only way we're going to find out what's missing is if…Kimball Rhodes tells us."

-o0o-

Reid got of the taxi, pulling his heavy bag with him. His muscles ached from being cramped into an economy seat that was too small for even a man of his slight build. He paid the driver then walked up the short set of stone steps outside his apartment block. Reid didn't live in a particularly well-off area and there was no doorman so he fumbled in his pockets for his keys, juggling his satchel and bag.

His keys made a clatter as they slipped from his fingers and tumbled down the steps. He dropped his bag in the doorway and went to retrieve his keys.

As he bent to pick them up, he caught movement at the corner of his eye that made him turn his head. He straightened up. The pavement across the street was empty. Cars shushed passed.

Reid frowned, unable to shake the feeling that someone had been there, watching.

-o0o-

**7 November 2011**

**United States Courtroom, Washington DC**

Heavy rain pelted down outside of the courthouse, but neither Hotch nor Rossi made a move to go inside. A few metres away, huddled under a large navy blue umbrella, Emily and JJ were locked in conversation but they stopped when Hotch spoke.

"They're here."

They all watched as Morgan's car draw up and he and Garcia got out, the former offering the latter his jacket to hold over her head as they hurried through the rain.

Morgan frowned and beat Hotch to the question. "Where's Reid?"

"We thought he was coming with you." Emily replied.

"I thought JJ was picking him up."

They all looked at JJ. "Spence and I…" She began, looking uncomfortable, "we're really not there yet."

Morgan reached for his phone but before he could tap up Reid's name, a taxi pulled up on the opposite side of the road and the young man in question got out.

They saw Reid look up at the tall imposing court building. He licked his lips.

It had begun.

-end of part one-


	26. The Beginning: Part Two

_This chapter started out as fun to write but just went down hill from there and 5000 words is a LOOOONG decent. Thanks to everyone who sent words of encourgement. You kept me going after word 3426 (well, OK, thereabouts) x_

-o0o-

The halls of the courthouse were large and austere and filled with sharply dressed professionals striding purposely along the halls. The combined echoes of their footsteps and chatter and the hum of the air con mingled into a background jumble that was at once familiar and completely alien.

Morgan had given Reid a Starbucks coffee, pushing it into his hands when his mind had wandered from his surroundings so he hadn't said a thank you. It smelt rich and sweet and was probably loaded with cream and sugar and chocolate but his stomach turned over sickly at the thought of swallowing any. So he wrapped his cold fingers around the paper cup and enjoyed the only thing about it that he could: its heat.

Reid could hear Emily and JJ's voices a little way down the corridor, but they were too far away to make out what was being said. It was probably about him. He looked up from his coffee, turning towards them but both of their faces were in profile and he couldn't read their lips.

Hotch and Rossi had both offered him a firm handshake of support before going into the courtroom to sit in the public seats. The others had elected to stay with him.

"Noah."

Reid's head snapped round at Morgan's voice. He felt a confusing jolt of emotion when his eyes met those of the Cal Tech student at the end of the corridor. He got to his feet.

"Spencer Reid?" The voice came from behind him.

Reid turned to see a court official standing respectfully a couple of paces away.

"You've been called."

-o0o-

Reid could feel the eyes of the jury follow him as he was led to the witness stand. There was a stark interest on their faces that he couldn't remember seeing from a jury before but recognised from having seen if many times before. They had received a brief biography of his genius and were curious in the peculiar freak-show way he had become inured to after seeing it all his life. Should it matter even here?

Professor Rhodes smiled at him as he passed, warm and kind and benevolent as if he was greeting him as he hurried into class late, and his steps faltered. He felt the icy clutch of panic in his chest as he stood there, frozen for a second.

In the periphery of his vision, he saw Hotch, moving forward in his seat, discretely trying to pull Reid's eyes and attention onto him and away from Rhodes. Reid's eyes finally locked with Hotch's and the older man nodded once, a short dip of the head that managed to convey both his approval and his support.

Hotch's faith in him had never meant quite so much as Gideon's but right at this moment, it eclipsed it. And on the strength that gave him, Reid drew a breath and began walking again.

He took his seat in the witness box and in many ways it ought to have felt like a typical day in court. He swore to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth before new and unfamiliar faces but the layout of people before him was no different: judge to his left, the jury to the side, prosecution, defence…

But his heart refused to calm and he could physically feel it thudding under his ribs as if threatening to burst out of his chest. He took another breath, felt his head swim a little on the overdose of oxygen. He looked over at Hotch and Rossi and narrowed his focus to his superiors; ground himself on their presence as he forced his lungs into small even breaths. The panic receded.

-o0o-

Hotch watched some of tension in Reid's body release as the young man on witness stand answered the initial questions, confirming who he was, and Hotch was relieved to see it. Reid knew this. It was part of his job and that gave him a distinct advantage over the average victim. Not that he would need it with Beauregard Hunter, the lawyer heading up the prosecution. Hotch knew him to be a good and authorative man who genuinely cared about justice and the fair practice of law. But the defence attorney, however, was a different story.

"Would you tell the court, in your own words, what happened on May 11 2007?"

Reid pulled his eyes away from Hotch's face and focused them instead on the mike in front of him capturing his words. Hotch wondered if it was shame or nerves or something else that made him hide his face. Reid quietly went through the events that he remembered: returning to the hotel in Coos Bay, packing… His voice was pitched high with unshed tears but none spilled down his cheeks. He faltered a little over the vague memories of being burned.

"Would you like a glass of water?" Hunter asked.

Reid shook his head then recounted waking up in hospital with Gideon at his side.

Hotch felt Rossi shift at his side at the mention of Gideon's name. "You still haven't told Reid." He said. It wasn't a question.

"He needs to stay focused." Hotch replied.

"The longer you leave it, the worse it will be."

"I know." He admitted. "But I've made my decision."

Rossi didn't reply, both of their attentions drawn by Hunter's next question. "You have no memory of a sexual assault?"

Reid nodded.

"You need to answer the question, son."

"Yes." Reid answered. "I have no memory of being assaulted."

Hunter turned away, striding purposely to his table to pick up two files. "But an assault DID take place," he told the court, "and were confirmed by both forensic and medical examinations." Hunter held up the reports. "4a and 4b."

The defence counsel, Graham Teller, stood. His voice had a note of a southern accent that he couldn't quite school out. "Move to strike 4a, your honour. It has no relevance here." He said. "All forensic evidence taken from Dr Reid came from one source and that was not my client."

Hunter looked at the judge. "I believe I can successfully prove that Kimball Rhodes was not only present at Dr Reid's assault but was the main instigator."

The judge looked at Teller. "Denied."

"Interesting." Rossi murmured.

"They're attempting to distance Rhodes from Milo Kullen." Hotch said.

"Wise move." His friend replied. "Without a solid link, maybe 90% of this case becomes circumstantial."

"Toxicology results – exhibit 4c, your honour – confirmed the presence of flunitrazepam in Dr Reid's system." Hunter was saying. He turned to the jury. "We've already heard the expert opinion of Dr Freeman on the effects of that particular drug."

-o0o-

After over an hour of questioning, Hunter finally sat down and Teller got up to cross-examine. Teller was a surprisingly short man, with a round and non-descript face, easily ignored in a crowd. He looked like the embodiment of harmless. His eyes, however, told a different story. They were a vivid blue, sharp and flinty, fixing on Reid like a hawk seizing on its prey. Reid had been on the receiving end of a hostile cross far too many times and tensed at the man's approach. But at least he was prepared for what was to come.

"I've read a number of your articles, Dr Reid." Teller said. "You have a remarkable talent."

"Thank you." Reid replied cautiously. He knew better than to be relaxed by the personable act.

"Your testimony in State vs. Williams was brilliant." He smiled.

"Mr Teller…" The judge warned.

A thin smile appeared. "Of course, your honour." He stepped back from the witness box, grandstanding himself to pull the jury's attention. "How long have you known the defendant, Dr Reid?"

"Six years, five months."

Eyebrows rose at the concise reply. "No days?"

"And 17 days." Reid replied and glanced at his watch. "I can give you hours and minutes if you would like."

There was a quiet ripple of laughter from the public seats.

Teller absorbed Reid's reply for a moment then seemed to choose to chuckle. "And in all that time, did you ever consider that he might be one of the disturbed individuals you so brilliantly research?"

"Objection, your honour." Hunter got to his feet. "Dr Reid is here as the alleged victim, not to provide professional context."

"Yet he can and he _does_ provide professional context every day, your honour," Teller pointed out, "it's not something he can turn off. Therefore it has relevance here."

"I'll allow it. But keep it respectful and don't test my patience, Mr Teller."

Teller turned back to Reid, blue eyes full of ice. "Did you, or did you not, ever consider Kimball Rhodes to be one of the disturbed individuals you are trained to recognise?"

Reid swallowed. "No."

"No?" Teller repeated; his voice a mocking echo. "He never gave you cause to doubt his intentions? Not even once? Never made you uneasy about his research? Never-"

"Objection. Counsel is badgering the witness."

"Sustained." The judge said. "Make your point, Mr Teller."

"So let me get this straight, an educated experienced profiler such as yourself had NO cause to believe my client was one of the very criminals he is trained to identify? Is that what you're saying, Dr Reid?

"Yes." He said softly.

"I didn't catch that, Doctor."

Reid looked up. "Yes."

"Well forgive me for asking, Dr Reid, but on behalf of the citizens of this country, if the defendant's guilty, why the hell are our tax dollars being wasted on your salary when are clearly so incapable of doing the job we're paying you to do?!"

"Objection!"

Teller held up his hands. "Question withdrawn." He said.

The judge leaned forward. "Do I need to remind you of the meaning of respect, Mr Teller?"

"No, your honour."

"Good." He sat back.

"Isn't it more likely, Dr Reid, that the reason you did not see any deviant behaviour from the defendant is because there was none?"

"Objection. Dr Reid is not here to provide conjecture."

"Sustained."

Teller bit back a smile. "I imagine then that my client's arrest for your assault must have come as a surprise, both personally and professionally."

Reid nodded.

"Answer the question!" He snapped.

"Yes."

The questioning continued and Teller's attitude softened, but Reid knew this was merely a ploy to get him to relax. The questions were designed to show how close Rhodes had been to him, as a tutor and a mentor and as a friend. And all the while, he was reinforcing Reid's skills as a profiler. It brought home to Reid how blind he had been, how stupidly misled… He chanced a look at the jury, hoping they would understand how much trust and admiration could blinker a person, but he couldn't read anything on their faces.

Teller moved on to Milo Kullen, skilfully playing up the conversations Reid had had with him at the Coos Bay Hotel and presenting his assault of Reid as a solo event, completely unconnected with Rhodes.

"Dr Reid, the prosecution would have us believe that semen was taken from both you and Noah Layton for use in fertility treatments, yet despite a thorough investigation of the clinics where these alleged samples were stored, none were found that matched either your or Noah Layton's DNA." Teller said. "However the eggs donated by Lucy Watkins were quickly recovered. Did Professor Rhodes ever approach you about donating sperm?"

"No."

"If he had, would you have agreed?"

"Objection." Hunter snapped out. "That question is irrelevant."

"Sustained."

Teller frowned. "Did he ever discuss any fertility treatments he was undergoing with you?"

"No."

"You've told us about your friendship with Lucy Watkins; did she ever approach you about donating sperm?"

"No."

Teller picked over details like a vulture cleaning meat off a bone, seeding doubt in the prosecution's case about the fertility files that Rhodes himself had kept. Reid knew it was working because he couldn't stop himself from questioning the lack of physical evidence at the clinics.

And when he looked at Hotch, he saw the concern on his face.

-o0o-

The trail recessed for the day at 4pm and the team headed to a nearby restaurant for an early dinner. Talk turned, as it always did, to past cases and unsolved crimes and for that Reid was grateful. He did not want to face another question about Rhodes or the trail, even those kindly meant, after the harsh cross-examine. It would be too much. The frustration he'd felt on the witness stand was still coiled in his gut, waiting for a release yet held in a kind of horrible limbo by the knowledge that he would have to continue the cross-examination tomorrow.

Reid pushed his food around his plate and made a real attempt to joining in the conversation. He could tell by the kind smiles he received for every sentence he spoke that they appreciated his efforts. Yet something about that grated against nerves already frayed so badly by Teller's words.

Morgan refused to let him get the subway and insisted on dropped him home, even going so far as getting out of the car when Reid did and walking him to the door of his apartment block. That tight knot inside him wound tighter.

"I know you don't wanna talk about, Kid, I get that." Morgan said. "But when you're ready…"

Reid swallowed, jaw clenched against the roil of anger that he just couldn't push away. "Thanks."

He turned to go. "Get some sleep, Pretty Boy."

The nickname ran through him like nails down a blackboard. "Why do you call me that?"

Morgan stopped, turned back, frowning at the sudden anger. "It's just…something to call you besides Reid." He said.

"And you can't think of anything respectful?"

"Reid, I am not disrespecting you." Morgan said slowly and calmly. "OK, so you're not a boy anymore, but plenty of people think you're pretty and…" he shifted uncomfortably, "with that big ol' brain of yours, maybe I think you should remember that."

The reasonable reply did nothing to calm the storm building inside him.

"It's not like I call you that every day."

"I hate it." He snapped out. That wasn't true. It was the anger talking and he just couldn't shut it up.

Morgan looked surprised. "I didn't know." He said. "I'm sorry."

Reid's innards coiled with frustration at Morgan's calm acceptance of his anger.

"It won't happen again, OK?" The concern on Morgan face almost made him step back. "OK?"

"Yeah." Reid saw more concern in his friend's eyes, indecision too, unsure of whether to leave or not. "Bye." The word came out before he could stop it.

Morgan flinched a little at the sharp word and there was a very dangerous second when Reid thought that his friend would refuse and argue his case for staying. But after a moment, he simply nodded and said, "I'll see you tomorrow, K…Reid, Spencer."

Reid watched him walk back to his car then began the long climb up the flights of stairs to his home, every step more exhausting than the one before.

Once inside in small home, the silence and the walls seemed to close around him and he hurried to the window to push it open. Chill evening air rushed in and made him shiver and he sank down onto his knees before shifting to sit with his back to the wall. The sounds of the city filtered in along with cold; traffic, sirens, yelling, music…

It wasn't enough to drown out the words in his head. His mind was stuck on replay.

Reid put his crossed arms on his knees then lay this head down on them. His eyes fell on the baseball bat he kept hidden behind the sofa, a security measure begun long ago, when locked rooms had ceased to feel safe for him. Unfolding his limbs, he reached out and tugged it from its hiding place. It felt heavy and rough in his hand.

He stood up. He couldn't shut off the replay and he felt the rage finally break free as he was forced to listen, verbatim, to every word said in that courtroom.

But the sound of the bat striking wood drowned it out. The beautiful piano, that made such wonderful music when played, made an even more satisfying noise as he obliterated it.

-o0o-

**8 November 2011**

**United States Court, Washington DC**

Morgan smiled as Reid slipped into the passenger seat of his car. The kid looked a little better than the day before, as if he had finally succeeded in getting some sleep. Most of the terrible tension that seemed to be eating him up the day before had faded, but in its place was a pattern of worry that etched lines into his features.

The car pulled out onto the road and Morgan glanced over at Reid. "You're looking a lot better, Kid."

Something about that made Reid turn his head away to look out of the passenger side window. "I'm sorry about yesterday." He said. "I didn't mean to…"

"Hey, I understand." He told him. "I was at the back of that courtroom. I saw how Teller treated you."

"He was doing his job." The reply sounded entirely too much like a mantra.

"Yeah, but doesn't have to enjoy it quite so much." Morgan said. "You have a right to be angry about it."

"I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"That's what friends are for, Reid." Morgan said. "And these are some big broad shoulders, all right, so any time you feel like laying into them, I'll be there."

The grin that split Reid's face was wonderful to see.

-o0o-

Rossi took his seat next to Hotch at the back of the courtroom, eyes falling on the easel and board that had been used the day before. Pinned to front were the pictures taken by Milo Kullen.

"Tell me he isn't going to use those." Rossi said.

"Teller can't move to dismiss the pictures but he can discredit them."

"Discredit them?" He repeated then caught the dark shadow in his friend's eyes and realised how hard this was for him.

Their attention was then taken by the sight of Reid retaking the witness stand. Rossi watched the little colour that Reid did have in his face drain away at the sight of the pictures.

Teller approached the board and waved his hand at them. "Dr Reid, can you confirm for us again that this is you?"

"Yes."

"Can you be sure?"

Rossi watched Reid pull his eyes away. "I…"

"Objection, your honour." Hunter said. "We have already established the identity of the man in these photographs and have heard the testimony of Col. Phillips, an expert in the field of facial recognition software, confirming that is Dr Reid and I cannot see any reason why Mr Teller is persisting in- ."

"You've made your point, counsel." The judge said. "Move this along, Mr Teller."

"Do you recognise any of the hands in these photographs as belonging to Kimball Rhodes, a man that you claim to have known, by your own admission very well, for 6 years, 5 months and now 18 days?"

"No."

"In fact, the _only_ thing vaguely recognisable – and I do stress the word _vaguely_ – is the computer enhanced image of a medallion necklace that the prosecution claim is identical to the one worn by the defendant at the time of his arrest." Teller dug into his shirt and lifted a St. Christopher free of his neck. "Patron saint of travellers." He said. "It's not an uncommon item of jewellery, Dr Reid. In fact, I have to wonder how many members of the jury are wearing these." He smiled at the box of men and women.

Rossi saw Reid bite his lip and ached for him.

Teller crossed to his table and picked up a remote control. "You have a medallion yourself, do you not?"

Absolute horror crossed Reid's face and Rossi heard Hotch's intake of breath beside him.

"Objection!" Hunter got to his feet. "Dr Reid's possessions are not on trial here."

Rossi leaned in to Hotch. "Lucky guess?"

Hotch was watching Teller closely. "Let's hope so."

"Sustained." The judge said.

Teller walked along the row of jury members, holding up the remote control. He got to the end where a TV was fixed and turned to Reid. "Perhaps you'll recognise the defendant here?" He said and pressed play.

The screen lit and began to play the short clip of Reid's assault taken on Milo's phone. The sounds of it echoed in the court and the hitch of Reid's breath on the footage wrenched a stifled cry from the young man forced to watch. Rossi was suddenly glad Reid hadn't eaten. By the colour of his skin, he was clearly close to vomiting.

He heard a muffled curse from further down the line of spectators and turned to see Morgan clenching his jaw against what looked like a very intense desire to tear Teller to shreds.

He could relate.

Teller moved to stand right in front of Reid. "Do you recognise Professor Rhodes on this video, Dr Reid?"

Reid's head was turned as far away from the TV as his neck could stretch. He made some indistinct movement that Rossi guessed was a shake of his head.

"Answer the question, Dr Reid!" Teller demanded, leaning forward. "Do you recognise Kimball Rhodes?"

"No."

"Can you repeat that louder for the jury?"

"NO."

Teller stood back, clearly satisfied with his work. "I have no further questions at this time, your honour, but I'd like to retain the right re-call the witness."

The judge agreed and swiftly recessed the court.

-o0o-

Outside the court, Reid found the team waiting for him. Morgan pulled him into a hug and Garcia, unable to wait her turn, simply hugged them both at the same time. And as soon as they released him, Rossi gripped his face in both hands and kissed him firmly on both cheeks. Then JJ and Emily pulled him into their arms as well.

And finally Hotch stepped forward and held out his hand. Reid took it and Hotch smiled at him warmly and used his other hand to squeeze Reid's shoulder.

-o0o-

**9 November 2011**

Noah Layton gave evidence in the morning. He emerged from the courtroom feeling sick to his stomach but relieved. No matter what happened now, that part was over.

He stayed until the end of the day, milling around in a kind of daze, driven on by a need that had grown over the last few months. He had almost given up when finally, in the corridor, he found the man he was looking for.

"Dr Reid?" He said as he approached him.

"Noah?" He looked concerned and Noah felt dread run through him at the thought that the man might ask him about his time on the witness stand. He wasn't ready to deal with that yet. It was over and right now, that's all he could handle.

"Could, um…could we grab a coffee?" He asked. "I'd, ah, I guess I'd really like to…I don't know, talk. If that's OK?"

Reid smiled. "Sure." He replied. "I think there's a Starbucks outside."

Noah giggled nervously. "Man, there's _always_ a Starbucks outside."

Reid greeted the lame joke with another, this time more genuine, smile. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

They walked out of the courthouse and crossed the road and then the small patch of grass surrounding a war memorial to the row of cafes and patisseries just beyond.

Inside Starbucks, they ordered drinks and found a small table by the window. Through the glass, the tall, majestic memorial could be seen in all its glory, sunlight bathing the dull bronze. Behind it, the ominous breathe of the court loomed like a nightmare.

"I…um…" Noah took a gulp of his coffee, screwing his eyes up at the burn of the hot liquid on his throat. "I wanted to say…well, thank you." He tried to make those two words sound casual, speaking them with a shrug of his shoulders.

Reid look surprised.

Noah hurried to explain before the doctor could speak. "When it first happened, I…it felt like there would never be a time when I didn't think about it." He pressed his fingers to the paper cup. "But after a while, I… I mean, I found out that… Oh God this sounds so horrible and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry but I felt _better_ when I found it had happened to you too!"

Noah didn't dare look at the other man but he could see Dr Reid's fingers go rigid around his coffee cup. "Noah…"

"No, I need to say this. Please." He drew a long breath. "After that, I kept thinking about you, about how you'd come to Cal Tech and do those seminars and…you were…" He sought the right word, didn't find it, and could only finish lamely, "…OK. You were OK." He glanced up at Reid. There was none of the reproach he had feared in his face. "I guess what I'm trying to say is… You gave me hope." He looked out the window to stare at the courthouse. Somewhere in its depth was the man who had done this to them both. "I wanted you to know that in case…" _it helps_… But he couldn't finish the sentence.

"Noah…"

He looked back at Reid. "I've never been to DC before."

It took the doctor a moment to force back whatever he wanted to say. He knew he should let the man say what he needed to say about Rhodes or the case or whatever it was, it would only be fair since he had unloaded, but he _had_ to be selfish right now. It was the only way he could get through this.

After a few seconds, he saw Reid relax, letting go of his response as if he'd never wanted to make it. "It's a great city…" He began.

Talk turned to polite and safe topics and after ten minutes, Dr Reid said his goodbyes and left. Noah saw a man follow Reid with his eyes as he crossed Starbucks and then got to his feet and shadowed Reid out the door.

Noah dug his fingernails into his the palms of his hands. Paranoia.

Just paranoia and it seemed like he would never be able to let it go.

-o0o-

**10 November 2011**

**Behavioural Analysis Unit, Quantico, Virginia**

"He's what?" Morgan's hand hit Hotch's desk. He turned away in disgust.

Hotch allowed him his rage; his own, while better contained, equalled it.

"Does Reid know?"

"I chose not to tell him."

"He's has a right to know, Hotch." He yelled. "We all did!"

"I understand your anger but Reid needed to focus on giving evidence." Hotch explained. "And Hunter agreed."

"So it was for his own good?" Morgan spat. "Hotch; I am sick and tired of being kept in the dark just because you think we can't handle the truth!" The reference to the deception over Emily stung. "You know, Reid may never completely trust JJ ever again and I am not going to just stand by and let you ruin his trust in me or in Garcia and Rossi. If you don't tell him, then I will."

-o0o-

**11 November 2011**

**United States Court, Washington, DC**

Days of evidence had passed. Only Hotch and Rossi stayed for all of it. Hunter was good, presenting a strong picture of an unstable man finally giving in to his desires to dominate young men when presented with an opportunity to do so in the form of a promise made to a dying woman and backed it up with solid facts and expertly presented evidence. He led the jury to question Rhodes motives in befriending young boys, to think about the planning he put into his abductions when he treated the outcome – the fertility treatments – with none of the same intensity.

Finally on the following Monday, it was time for the defence to put its case and as the court rose for the entrance of the judge, Rossi leaned into Hotch's side.

"Have you told him?"

Everyone returned to their seats.

"Hotch; please tell me you told Reid about the first witness for the defence?"

The friend's eyes were dark. "Morgan's informing him."

-o0o-

Morgan was waiting for Reid at the top of the long wide steps outside of the court building. There was tension in his shoulders and his features were set like granite.

A flurry of possibilities flew through Spencer's head: miss-trial, his testimony struck from the record, a not guilty verdict…

"Reid." Morgan said as soon as he reached the top step.

Something caught his eye and he focused over Morgan's shoulder. It felt a stab of recognition and shock run through him so sharp that he almost staggered under its force. From a long distance away, he heard his own voice utter; "I know what you're going to say."

Morgan's face betrayed his surprise and he turned, following Reid's line of sight. The movement cleared Reid's view, so that he could stare unobstructed at the man he never thought he'd see again.

-o0o-

In the courtroom, Graham Teller stood up. "The defence calls Jason Gideon to the stand."

.

-end of part two-


End file.
